CIHM 

ICIUIH 

Microfiche 

Collection  de 

Series 

microfiches 

(l\/lonographs) 

(monographies) 

Canadian  Instituta  for  Historical  Microraproductions  /  Institut  Canadian  da  microraproductiona  historiquas 


1996 


Technical  and  Bibliographic  Notes  /  Notes  technique  et  bibliographiques 


The  Institute  has  attempted  to  obtain  the  best  original 
copy  available  for  filming.  Features  of  this  copy  which 
may  be  bibliographically  unique,  which  may  alter  any  of 
the  images  in  the  reproduction,  or  which  may 
significantly  change  the  usual  method  of  filming  are 
checked  below. 


0 

D 

D 

D 
D 
Q 

D 

□ 
D 

D 


Coloured  covers  / 
Couverture  de  couleur 

Covers  damaged  / 
Couverture  endommagee 

Covers  restored  and/or  laminated  / 
Couverture  restauree  et/ou  pellicula 

Cover  title  missing  /  Le  titre  de  couverture  manque 

Coloured  maps  /  Cartes  geographiques  en  couleur 

Coloured  ink  (i.e.  other  than  blue  or  black)  / 
Encre  de  couleur  (i.e.  autre  que  bleue  ou  noire) 

Coloured  plates  and/or  illustrations  / 
Planches  et/ou  illustrations  en  couleur 

Bound  with  other  material  / 
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Only  edition  available  / 
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la  marqe  interieure. 

Blank  leaves  added  ckiring  restoratkuis  may  appear 
within  the  text.  Whenever  possible,  these  have 
been  omitted  from  filming  /  II  se  peut  que  certaines 
pages  blanches  ajoutees  lors  d'une  restauration 
apparaissent  dans  le  texte,  mais,  lorsque  cela  etait 
p<»sible,  ces  pages  n'ont  pas  6t6  film^. 


L'Institut  a  microfilm^  le  meilleur  examplaire  qu'il  lui  a 
ete  possible  de  se  procurer.  Les  details  de  cet  exem- 
plaire  qui  sont  peut-etre  uniques  du  point  de  vue  bibli- 
ographique,  qui  peuvent  modifier  une  Image  reproduite, 
ou  qui  peuvent  exiger  une  modifications  dans  \r  m6th- 
ode  normale  de  filmage  sont  indiqu^s  ci-dessous. 

I     I      Coloured  pages  /  Pages  de  couleur 

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I     j      Pages  restored  and/or  laminated  / 
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'-^      Pages  d^color^es,  tachetees  ou  piquees 

I     I      Pages  detached  /  Pages  d6tach6es 

r^     Showthrough  /  Transparence 

I     I      Quality  of  print  varies  / 

' — '      Quality  inhale  de  I'impresston 

I     I      Includes  supplementary  material  / 

Comprend  du  materiel  supplementairo 

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totalement  ou  partiellement  obscurcies  par  un 
feuillet  d'errata,  une  pelure,  etc.,  ont  6t6  film^s 
i  nouveau  de  fa^on  a  obtenir  la  meilleure 
image  possible. 

I  I  Opposing  pages  with  varying  colouration  or 
' — '  discolourations  are  filmed  twice  to  ensure  the 
best  possible  image  /  Les  pages  s'opposant 
ayant  des  colorations  variables  ou  des  decol- 
orations sont  filmees  deux  fois  afin  d'obtenir  la 
meilleur  image  possible. 


D 


Adcfitk)nal  comnr)ents  / 
Commentaires  suppl^mentaires: 


This  ittm  is  f  ilmad  at  the  reduction  ratio  checked  below/ 

Ce  document  est  filme  au  taux  de  reduction  indiquc  ci-dessous. 

10X  14X  18X 


22X 


Z6X 


30X 


_!_ 

12X 


16X 


aox 


24X 


28X 


32  X 


The  copy  filmed  h«r«  hM  b««n  raproducad  thanks 
to  tha  e*n«roaitv  of: 

National  Library  of  Canada 


L'axamplaira  film4  f ut  rapreduit  graca  A  la 
OinAresitA  da: 

Bibliothaqua  natioxuila  du  Canada 


Tha  imagaa  appaaring  hara  ara  tha  bast  quality 
poatibia  considaring  tha  condition  and  Uigibility 
of  tha  original  copy  and  in  kaaping  with  tha 
filming  eenuaet  apacif icatiena. 


La«  imagat  suivantaa  ont  txi  raproduita*  avae  la 
plus  grand  soin.  compta  tanu  da  la  condition  at 
da  la  nattat*  da  I'axamplaira  film*,  at  an 
confermM  avae  laa  conditions  du  contrat  da 
fllmaga. 


Original  copias  in  printad  papsr  covars  ara  filmad 
beginning  with  tha  front  covar  and  anding  on 
tha  last  paga  with  a  printad  or  illustratsd  impraa- 
sion.  or  tha  back  cowar  whan  appropriata.  All 
othar  original  copias  ara  filmad  beginning  on  tha 
first  paga  with  a  printad  or  illustrated  impres- 
sion, and  ending  on  the  last  page  with  a  printad 
or  illuatratad  impression. 


The  last  recorded  frame  on  eech  microfiche 
shall  conuin  tha  symbol  "♦- 1  meaning  "CON- 
TINUED"), or  tha  symbol  V  Jmaaning  "END"). 
whichever  applies. 

Maps,  plates,  charts,  etc..  may  be  filmed  at 
different  reduction  ratios.  Those  too  large  to  be 
entirely  included  in  one  exposure  ara  filmed 
beginning  in  the  upper  left  hand  corner,  left  to 
right  and  top  to  bottom,  as  many  frames  ss 
required.  The  following  diagrams  illustrate  the 
method: 


Lea  exemplairas  originaux  dont  la  eouvarture  en 
pepier  est  imprimSe  sent  filmSs  en  commencant 
par  le  premier  plat  at  en  terminant  soit  par  la 
darniAre  paga  qui  comporta  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration,  soit  par  la  second 
plat,  salon  la  cas.  Toua  las  autras  exemplairas 
originaux  sont  filmis  an  commandant  par  la 
premiere  page  qui  eomporte  une  empreinte 
d'impression  ou  d'illustration  at  en  terminant  par 
la  darni*ra  paga  qui  comporta  una  telle 
•mprainta. 

Un  dee  symbolas  suivants  spparaitra  sur  la 
darni*re  image  da  cheque  microfiche,  talon  la 
cas:  la  symbola  -^  signifia  "A  SUIVRE ".  la 
svmbola  ▼  aignifio  "FIN". 

Las  6«rtas.  planches,  tableaux,  etc.,  peuvent  etre 
filmAs  *  des  ttux  da  reduction  diff«rants. 
Lorsque  le  document  est  trop  grand  pour  itra 
reproduit  en  un  seul  clichA,  il  est  film*  S  partir 
da  I'angle  supArieur  gauche,  de  gauche  A  droite. 
et  de  haut  en  bas.  an  pranant  le  nombre 
d'imagas  ndcessaire.  Les  diagrammes  suivants 
illuatrant  la  m«thoda. 


1 

2 

3 

1  2  3 

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MOOCOfY   RiSOlUTiON   TBT  CHA«T 

(ANSI  and  ISO  TEST  CHART  No.  2) 


^  APPLIED  INA^GE    Inc 

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Cefyritkt.  1914 
By  IUmb.  MoNaut  *  Comvaht 


001!  .'is  7-,;) 


THE  PREFACE 

an  idle  iSan  J^to  5,^^™  thislSe  ma?  ^^, 
Be  tlwt  as^rm^'  history."      ^^*'  *>"*  the  mar- 

hness  of  hi^  -  ®.^®^™  ^rom  the  La««  !-    centunes. 


I'-i 


^'^''««'"'^«yi.l9l4 


,ff»'l 


1 
i 

1 

in'f' 

1 

f 

I^P 

i 

■4 

Thb  Author 


««AFTt« 

I. 

II. 
iil. 

IV. 
V. 
VI. 

vir. 

VIII. 
IX. 
X. 

XI. 
XII. 
XIII. 
XIV. 
XV. 
XVI. 
XVII. 
XVIII 
XIX, 
XX. 
XXI. 
XXII. 
XXIII. 
XXIV. 


THE  CONTENTS 


The  Pack  at  thb  Window 

LlHUTENANT  JoHN  Ca.Roll 

A  C«Y  IN  THK  Dark 

2l  ^^  -  Lko  xhk  Sxkakoh. 
England's  Agent 

Marshall's  Warning  . 
A  Soldier's  Wooing 
"CojiotkAmo.  Amame- 
TheSonsofAncientSpain' 
The  Clank  ok  Chains 

The  Couriers  OF  THE  Night 

WAR      . 

"Sons  of  the  Land.  Awake." 
The  Black  Matador  . 

The  Captain's  Defiance  . 
The  Race  for  the  Hh-ltop  ' 
The  Midnight  Sortie 

The  Paith  OF  Servolo  Palera  '     "     ' 

The  Snarl  OF  the  Wolf 

An  Unknown  Pribnd  "     '     '     ' 

The  Cannon  of  THE  Senora'     '     '     ' 

The  Battle  IN  THE  Dark 

*  •  «  . 

7 


rAca 

•  9 

•  31 

•  30 

•  42 

•  56 

•  71 
.  8i 

•  92 

•  97 
105 

112 

"7 

124 

'33 
148 

159 

.  168 

•  176 

194 

205 

213 

227 

«35 
249 


'  THE  CONTENTS 

3^V.  Vakuha  St»  zm  '**" 

XXVII.  Th.  T.«o.  o,  th.  Sca^„ ^" 

™^«^— -jci^z::  — ^ 

XXIX.ArT«...p,.on.BA.Toto'. ** 

XXX.  Tw  Last  Stand  of  tub  Cabal,"..!    '     '     '  ^" 
XXXI.  "Shb  Shall  P..v  ^^'^^^    •     •     •  323 

HB  bHALL  PbaY  FOB  YOUB  DbaTH"  .   .     -., 

XXXII.  By  THB  Giant  Oab     .  .                         '341 

XXXIII.  AT  THB  DBva's  RocB ^** 

XXXIV.  Ah  Hohobablb  Pbacb ^^' 

XXXV.  AT  Cahubnga  Pass  ^"^ 

XXXVI.  THB  PasSIHO  OK  THB  SHADOW '^^ 

EwtOGUB       ...  *^° 

431 


I 

pp^'  J 

1 

• 

* 

I^ 

1 

DON  JOSE  ANTONIO  ARILLO 


f  c- 


THE  DONS  OF  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

CHAPTER  I 

(^LEARER  and  dearer  came  th.       • 

Y  note.,  the  mttle^Jc^L*^*  "°«^«  bugle 

nof  welcome  marked  ttT^  •  ***  '^stance 
^«>t.butitS^^iJ°r'°"-  The  city  ,^ 
awed  quietude,  a.  tf  tte  .T^!"^  "^^  *^  •» 
longed  it,  middky  ^^t/J^  f"'""  '"^  P™- 
ft  was  the  twelftt^J'J^'/^'^  W 

"<J  Fremont  werete^tT- '  '/**•  ^*«'*» 
"gainst  an  apathetio^^  ^  ''"^  «»'««nn8 

American  flag.        ^^     "  "•  advent  ot  the 

Nether  spirit  nor  material  was  th^  i^  • 
aty  for  even  a  show  „f!L^  ™"  left  in  the 

levies  of  the  govero^^^S^'  *^»  "O'd 
and  peons  had  be^^J^'^"'*''  f»  Indians 

•■^ve  the  ptL.I^'^,^-*  to  the  hilb 
'r°~>»   among   the  Z^  ^^'^  ""^e  mo« 

« f<.  their  cc^-itrr  So/*: 


le    THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

had  remained  in  the  pueblo  and  vntt  now  gathered 
at  caiement  and  window,  awaiting  with  curiosity 
the  coming  of  the  Americans. 

With  the  older  men,  though  occaiionaHy  u.  Jit 
be  heard  a  word  of  regret  at  the  pass  ng  of  Mexican 
soverdp  ty,  there  was  generally  a  calm  accept- 
ance of .  conqtiest  long  recognized  as  inevitable, 
but  among  Jm  younger  generation,  hotter  headed 
and  less  philosophical,  was  apparent  a  silent 
sullenness  that  boded  ill  for  the  future  peace  of 
the  sleepy,  sun-parched  city. 

The  house  of  Arillo  haughtily  gave  no  sign. 
Thotigh  it  was  a  day  pregnant  with  portents  of 
the  future  for  Don  Jos^  Antonio  Arillo,  there  was 
no  anxiety  in  his  calm  face  as  he  idly  scanned  the 
coltmms  of  a  tattered  and  much  bethumbed 
Modcan  newspaper. 

'  Madre  de  Dios,"  murmured  Sefiora  Arillo, 
**i»  it  so,  that  they  are  really  I  ere — at  last — the 
Americans?    What  shall  we  do,  Jos6  Antonii  ;" 

"Calm  thyself,  mother.  There  is  naught  to 
feai,"  he  replied,  with  the  ready  optimism  of  his 
race. 

"But  the  Commandant  Castro  and  his  sol- 
diers— there  will  be  shooting  in  the  streets?" 

Sefior  Arillo's  quiet,  indulgent  smile  was  tuged 
with  a  trace  of  amusement. 

"No;  there  will  be  no  shooting.  The  told 
Commandant  Castro  and  the  brave  Governor 


"a  MCE  AT  THE  WINDOW 


Pico,  alike   *~  «,^  " 

A»  ho  lolled  in  the  eMv^hi?      '^  "  "»  "Poke. 

velvet  knee  breeches,  with^;.       ^'''   '''«* 
«hoe.  brightly  budSd   te  ^^  '*°*°«»  "I 

™n<rftheday.    In  W»  fi^T  ^°"^  ««"* 

'h'  calm  conUtm«7ar^  "^  '^*»  >«« 
•««»  with  the  world  mdW,       "*°  "^^  »  at 

At  her  husband?  m^  ""fe  >»»  been  kind. 

^j^.*  bent  o,«  httSktr*^ 
f°Je-    Then  her  «»«  JTT    7  ""^  *  ««fty 

"here  a  roughly  dad  Lin  ."'  ">«  I»tio. 

g^j  «  m  a  plot  of  freshly  broken 

'Santa  Maria  "       l 
^««  ker  thoihte  - -n:'^  '"^f  "o»  to 
"orld  is  coming  to'    Tht  ^"^  ''°*  ""»'  the 

^-o,andthfpeop,eXr„i^-i:^ 


13    THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

not  for  the  better.  I  do  remember  well,  how, 
when  a  little  girl,  I  saw  my  brothers — fota*  of 
them — march  away  to  fight  the  Spaniards,  and 
but  two  came  back.  And  now,  por  Dios!  our 
commandant  and  our  governor  flee,  and  strike 
not  one  blow  for  the  land.  Ah,"  she  repeated, 
"the  times  are  not  what  they  were  —  nor  the 
people." 

"They  must  not  be  blamed,  mother.    There 
was  neither  money,  arms,  nor  clothing  for  the 
soldiers.    Let    us    be    charitable.    It    was    not 
that  Governor  Pico  was  afraid;  he  fled  that  the 
name  of  Pico  might  not  be  disgraced  by  sur- 
render." 
The  door  was  flung  wide  open. 
"The  Americans — they  are  here?" 
The  girl's  face  was  bright  with  excitement, 
and  her  whole  body  seemed  aquiver  with  a  fear 
Si    exhilarating  that  the  very  entertaining  of  it 
was  an  enjoyabh  sensation. 

Black  were  her  eyes— black  as  the  long  lashes 
that  fringed  their  velvet  depths,  black  as  the 
silky  sheen  of  her  raven  tresses.  The  cherry  tint 
of  her  curving  lips,  the  crimson  glow  in  her  olive 
cheeks,  but  echoed  back  the  vivid  red  of  the  single 
rose  in  her  hair. 

It  was  for  such  as  she  that  Spain  became  the 
garden  of  chivalry.  The  land  she  had  never  seen 
had  given  her  a  heritage  of  beauty,  of  the  type 


THE  FACE  AT  THE  WINDOW  „ 
which  generations  befniv>  i,.j  •  . 
knights  Md  jovousT^.h'^  "'"'"''  ''""°'^ 
painters,  singera!^  tr^*^*^-  Soul-thriUed 
^e  in  tlleir  S's^de^'"?  J»d  seen  such  as 
duction  on  canvas  ta  ve^^l?  """^  °^  "P"*- 

.      reserve  of  the  woodS.7^Jr  :.  °"^  ""y  ""e 
vacity,  held  in  ^^Zj^^'  fl°°<3-tiding  vi- 

tions;  witch^^'^.'^^fV'"'"''''  °^  g™*™" 
ove^weHnglc^L^o^r^-Wued  hy  the 

'fie  Don  rose  and  Idssprf  r™  » 
head,  lingerini.  =.   1  ^^°  °n  the  fore- 

caressingiri?  L^^'  to  touch  her  C^ 
^^ectio^fe  XZ  S  gr  t/T  r  *»  ^ 
thmg  of  sadness  markedT^^  *  ^^'^^^^  ^'"e- 
it  had  ^e  chasteni^f^i^/o^T-:-  """«'' 

ofy"th"'Tir:;;^S''-*thrSuheranc« 

boson,  heaved*'^^^t.:S'hrr-    «''' 
<J«npIed  with  all  the  t^LS^-      i  n      ''*™  arms 

and  her  eyes  .kneed  wft^^K^  ^"^"^  °^  y°«h. 
fasdnatiOTs  '""^'"^tmg  youth's  myriad 

wa^^n^tep^r:  '^^^^^  easy,  graceful 
the  plaza,  clSL^  ZZT  "^^  °^'  ™ 

we  wiU  look  out.    -n^^f-      *  ""*•    Here 

I  beheve,  but  their  ^3^  ^^  »«»  '^U. 

I  ays  are  not  our  ways,  and 


14    THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

it  may  be  that  there  are  rough  and  ungodly  men 
among  them." 

Turning  a  bend  of  the  roadway,  the  head  of  the 
column  swtmg  into  full  view,  and  heralding  it 
the  blare  of  the  band  flooded  the  drowsy  square. 
Vaingloriously  it  clashed  to  the  inner  recesses 
of  mansion  and  hut,  as  though  boasting  of  the 
bloodless  and  inconsequent  tri  imph.  Arillo 
smiled  at  the  grotesqueness  of  the  situation. 
What  a  fanfare  for  such  an  undisputed  conquesr-t ! 

Leading  the  column,  three  horsemen  entered 
the  plaza;  then,  marching  four  abreast,  their 
shf  •  t  muskets  aslant  on  their  shoulders,  came 
the  solid  squares  of  sailors,  clean  and  natty  in 
their  uniforms  of  white  and  blue.  After  them, 
from  out  a  cloud  of  yellow  dust,  the  slow-swajdng 
oxen  dragged  the  trundling  guns. 

"Ah,  the  sailors  from  the  American  war  ships. 
They  march  well  for  seafaring  men,"  said  Don 
Jos6  Antonio  as  he  peered  through  the  partly 
opened  shutters. 

"Who  are  those  behind  the  sailors?  They 
look  so  fierce  and  wild,"  questioned  Loreto, 
gazing  over  her  father's  shoulder. 

At  the  head  of  the  second  division  rode  a  tall 
man  on  a  great  black  horse,  his  battered  slouch 
hat  well  down  over  his  thin,  bearded  face.  Behind 
him,  their  rifles  slung  over  their  backs  or  resting 
across  their  saddles,   came  a  motley  group  in 


-^  'Xr^'- 


^fm.-'''i 


THE  PACE  AT  THE  WINDOW        » 

uncouth   Parh       C,r.«_ 

•»^aven  faces  ^H^tT'^n*^^^  '^-  ^'^ 
over  their  shouldL  *  hr",  -^  '"^««"8 
jerkins,  with  here  a^f  hi.  ,  *^<^  bucksJdn 
*frt.  their  capsTf  ^1^!^  "  ^"t"^  ""''  "^^ 
•^Wnd.  bespoke  4rw'  ""*  *^^  *»oping 
and  the  fur  tafe    '"»"'«'»«».  the  plainsi^f 

"'-  -ith  °tsttS^;,:w"*  ""*  *^«^^  tri! 
air.    A  sailor  st^L'^Sn'^r^  "*«  1"i« 
»  i«k  of  his  wriSt<S2  SV:f"  ""*  "**" 
fO'»d.    There  was  no^.  I   5"*'*"ng  to  the 
Sefiora  AriBo  sobSd    «!^^  f  '^'"«  «>«  act. 
the  window.    The  bL-f  ^  *"™^  ^''ay  fre„ 
but  he  was  sil«t  ^ZV  """  """"^'fi^. 
fluttered  upward.  ^™^  °^  the  stars 

Wild  ringing  cheers  from  the  Am    • 
plaza,  repeated  again  and  '"^'^^^cans  in  the 

band  struck  up  a  d^„^    ^f™'  ^<J  then  the 
•»u«c.    The  ^n,,:"^:? -^f  r,^  triun,phant 

^Pl^V  all  of  QUifonSa  b^d  L         "^^  "^ 
•can  possession.  ^^  '*«»»»  an  Amer- 

f'^te^^rw"'*^!''-  ^-  «•«  «^'  'eaned 

the  flagstaff,    ^d^lv  T  °"  **"  8n>up  near 

^^ly  uiterested  was  she  tto 


E,^- 


4, 


i6    THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

when  she  turned  it  was  to  look  suddenly  and 
directly  into  the  eyes  of  an  American  officer  who, 
during  the  maneuvering,  had  quietly  stopped  his 
horse  close  to  the  veranda. 

Erect,  handsome,  and  well  groomed,  there  was 
in  his  fresh  young  face,  buoyant  with  the  ease  of 
perfect  physical  health,  an  expression  of  pleas- 
ing affability,  somewhat  in  contrast  with  the 
air  of  cool  self-reliance  and  quiet  determination 
suggested  by  the  deeply  cleft  chin,  set  strongly 
imder  his  heavy  blond  mustache.  Perplexed  with 
deep  thought,  he  was  almost  frowning  under  his 
visored  cap  when  his  gaze  uprose  to  meet  that  of 
the  girl.  At  once  his  deep  blue  eyes  beamed  with 
an  artist's  pleasure  at  the  sight  of  sudden  and 
imexpected  beauty,  and  yet  he  was  not  guilty 
of  even  the  semblance  of  a  smile. 

Instinctively  his  hand  touched  his  hat  in 
respectful  salute,  and  deferentially  he  reined  his 
horse  away.  The  startled  girl  closed  the  shutter 
with  a  snap  that  seemed  almost  vicious  in  its 
haste.  He  stared  at  the  closed  window  for  a 
moment,  and  then  passed  on  reluctantly  towaid 
the  Plaza  Church. 

"May  the  good  God  grant  that  they  do  not 
take  our  house  for  their  headquarters,"  muttered 
Don  Jos6  Antonio. 

Lieutenant  Jack  Carroll  said  to  himself,  "By 
Gad!" 


wm 


THE  FACE  AT  THE  WINDOW        ., 

Back  to  the  open  plaza  floctert  .h. 
from  the  hfll  camrthe  InT;.^      ^  **  P*°P'«: 
brown  faces  ^4«  „„    "^^  *"?  P^"'-  "^ 
excited  groups  th^uZeTt  J?^*^.'^  " 
watched    the    saflo!;  'X^'°^^  °^«  »d 

ST^f  rP"'"'°-«  for  the  Jer^Tm^S^jZ 

its  busia^frth^l  f^ew  fl  °  """'  '"~"' 
the  city  of  Our  Lad^  „f  ,J^^  ^  "^^^d  °ver 
th^  co^fieldsTo^WH  ""'.^S^'  "-ere  were 

in   the  orchards  ZT'i^^ri^  "P*  P^^«^ 
ready  for  the  piddng  ^^  "^  ^<»t 

wf^tts'^^l^^^-^^^s  faded  to 
the  rugged  range-toT^^^'^'^;™'^"-    ^^^ind 
of  gold,  sUd  ^tfyon'^Z^V^l"^  "^ 
radiance  of  oran  J  In,,     ^     °^'^  *  ''""ting 
the  arched  bC    S^T^'  ^^8  "P  to 
sUver-showered^^e  ^^i^'^T^'  H" 
open  Plaea,  the  blanlcet^Z^tf^^  T    ""' 
men,  the  dark  grouo  of  tJ^  u       *  ^'^P'"^ 
■^tlessly.  and  tte  fi^  '?'^  ^'^  *«ffling 
moved  silently  back^  tJ^  T""'  ^^  "^^^ 
fnmt  of  the  churd,  th^.T^'.  ^^  *">«  dark 

of  wheels.  From  the  St     "^  "  *^sle 
^  caught  the  ^^pS'.r^'oidT:-^^ 


=    '  ^  ■  1  f  11 


r'^--'WW 


i8    THE  DONS  OF  THE  OLD  PuEBLO 


for  a  moment,  then  let  it  fall  limply  to  the 
staff. 

The  occupation  of  Los  Angeles  was  complete. 

Lieutenant  Carroll  turned  away  for  a  stroll 
in  the  quiet  night.  His  responsive  heart  warmed 
at  the  memory  of  the  incident  before  Arillo's 
window,  for  aside  from  the  romance  of  it  his 
artist's  mind  was  thrilled  with  the  vision  of  the 
girl's  entrancing  beauty. 

"Wouldst  know  thy  future,  sefior?  Wouldst 
know  thy  future?" 

A  blind  and  withered  Indian  woman  sat  on  a 
doorstep,  garbed  in  rags  and  surrounded  by 
sundry  evidences  of  squalor. 

The  lieutenant  ropped  a  bit  of  silver  into  her 
palm,  —  the  first,  perhaps,  she  had  possessed  in 
many  a  day. 

"God  took  my  eyes,  but  to  me  the  Holy  Mother 
makes  the  future  clear,"  she  explained  in  guttural 
Spanish,  with  exclamations  of  the  most  profuse 
gratitude. 

"Good  stranger,"  she  said,  as  she  held  his 
hand,  "alas  that  one  so  generous  should  suffer  so. 
Thy  heart  shall  be  crushed  as  by  a  stone,  and  blood 
shall  smear  thy  path.  The  great  hearts  whom 
thou  reverest  shall  be  humbled;  she  who  loves 
thee  shall  pray  for  thy  death.  Sad,  sad,  and 
long  is  the  way,  and  filled  with  woe." 

"It  is  fortimate  that  at  this  particular  time  no 


THE  PACE  AT  THE  WINDOW        „ 

one   loves   me,"   soliloquized   Carmll     ^.u 
amused  smile.  '^'""^   <-arroU,    w,th   an 

"Thy  heart  shall  be  >-m<,h~i        i. 
The  sunlight  wfflmm!  TT      f  ^^  »  «»<»«• 
the  night  of  Zl^V^^.  1°  •*  fo"""^  by 

danldng  cSinTT^/T,t*^P  *^  '™*  in 
-aainslhS^J^lff"  »^*  strife,  and 

aKtany.  "P****^- as  though  chanting 

asuperstittauscStic^Z^^  T^'  *°"*«1 
»_the  man's  sU  «»ewhere  deep  down 

orili"  *^''  "*"*•  S"**  woman,   ceasel"   h« 
Stay,  and  hear  aU— stay— " 

at  the  AmScf -s  „r      i""°"'  '~™'  ^^'i^'tly 
^mencan  s  apparent  ereduHty 

Of  Srst»S  "°'  '"V°°''  ^  «-«  "^^tails 

blue  eyes^Sr^^rStuU^^r""^' 
■--ive  mould  of  his  f^ts^^Z.^^^^^ 


■fit' 

i 


ao    THE  DONS  OF  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 


of  blond  hair,  in  strange  contrast  with  the  coppery 
glow  of  his  cheek. 

Irritated  by  the  unspoken  insolence  of  the 
man's  scrutiny,  Carroll  was  about  to  speak 
when  the  listener,  the  ^gravating  sneer  still  on 
his  heavy  mouth,  shrugged  his  shoulders  indif- 
ferently and  strode  away. 

That  night,  wearied  by  the  long  march  of  the 
day,  the  lieutenant  dropped  quickly  to  sleep,  but 
it  was  a  sleep  of  strange,  distorted  dreams,  in 
which  two  faces  came  and  went  in  tumultuous 
confusion, — the  gladdening  memory  of  the  girl 
at  the  casement  and  the  lowering  visage  of  the 
unknown  eavesdropper.  Ever  through  the  fleet- 
ing mirage  of  his  visions  floated  the  fancied 
croonings  of  the  Indian  woman. 

"Thy  heart  shall  be  crushed  as  by  a  stone. 
Friendship  shall  walk  in  chains.  Sad  and  long 
is  the  way,  and  filled  with  woe." 


CHAPTER  II 

"BUTENANT  JOHN  CARKOLL 

"Oh  the  time  I  've  ipent  in  wrWn. 
In  ovwg  and  puffii°  ''°°"«' 

Hil«hir«'"^«wSmen'.eye. 
Has  been  n,y  heart's  undSi?^ 

'iltedtohinselfmlfeCofa'^  headquarter. 
«««d  of  his  own  voioTfa  ,^1*  ^  V""  'he 
"ubbom  knot  oTa  b^dle  nf  ""f  "*  ««"  * 
down,  and  ^umed  mS;;f  I»^»t.  laid  it 

"  m,«,  jloomy  Kienc  sough,  „, 
I  scorned  the  !„;,  she  t'j;';^. 

He  fold^  ^  '^''  •>»""«*• «-  -oman^fLH-" 
a^d'SL^e:„^5^'««^-  '"^  ''  »  "  d^wer. 

But  Jack  Carton's  undoing  had  not  ^ 
a=nous  affair,  and  there  Jl %  "^^  *  ''e>7 

-.sdom  than  Vouth/^ToCt  Cd  °'  "^"•" 
face-a  face  that  mdiated  w4,^^^'  ''°""« 
happiness.  ^'h,  heartiness,  and 

Ocropied  with  the  routine  worJr  nf  .v 
he  had  not  noticed  the  apptoachTa  l^tC;; 


|p:5 


aa  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 


garbed  lan  who  hcic!  entered  the  stockade.  The 
newcomer  was  attired  in  the  height  of  Mexican 
fashion, —  bell-mouthed  trousers  of  black  broad- 
cloth, open  on  the  side  and  laced  to  thft  knee, 
short  rounded  jacket  of  blue  velvet  bright  with 
gold  braid,  a  flowing  crimson  sash,  and  vide 
curved-brimmed  sombrero  heavy  with  silver  fila- 
gree. Over  his  shoulder  hung  gracefully  the  long 
folds  of  a  dark  blue  scrape. 

The  Califomian  glanced  inquiringly  at  Commo- 
dore Stockton,  who  had  just  stepped  out  on  the 
veranda.  Then  his  grave  face  returned  Carroll's 
genial  smile. 

"Have  I  the  hon,r  of  addressing  the  American 
commander?"  he  asked  in  Spanish,  with  a  formal 
bow. 

The  commodore,  a  large-faced  man  with  graying 
tuft^  of  hair  in  front  of  his  ears  and  a  high,  arched 
nose,  eyed  the  stranger's  rich  raiment  with  an 
insolent  stare. 

"What  is  this  gorgeous  individual  sajdng,  lieu- 
tenant?" he  inquired,  turning  to  Carroll. 

The  young  officer  rose,  and  returned  the  Cali- 
fomian's  bow.  "Whom  have  I  the  pleasure  of 
addressing?"  he  asked  in  fluent  Spanish. 

"Don  Jos6  Antonio  Arillo,  formerly  alcalde,  of 
the  pueblo." 

"Oh,  explain  that  to  him,"  broke  in  the  com- 
modore, waving  his  hands  toward  the  papers  on 


UEUTENANT  JOHN  CARROLL      „ 
the  table,  "and  tell  hi^  ♦ 

hi.  friend.  to.mo,^w„d«lT'  '™™><'  "^ 
•Wot.  be  seated,"  ^itT^r    "f.-'*^<»  "•• 

P«-Wo  a«  expect  toln'^Tr',,"""  °'  ">« 
yen.  "  "80.    I  shaU  read  it  for 

hile?r«r^*»;j^t^;'^^3ees,  and  binds 
against  the  miKtai^^"' ''^<»-'  »?'  t°  «rve 
nor  to  give  aid  «Z^  °'  .**  "'"««d  States, 

"It  «  our  intentiW-T      "'.^^ni*' 
a"  those  who  Wra;,yty^'»"«'.  ":'<'  •»- 
e-Mnected  with  dvil  ^V^^     "'  ""^  time  been 
late  govenm,«t  rf  oZ^  ^"^^  •»<•<*  the 
In  return  we  have  tStZTtn"'^  *"'  P"™'"- 
y»uf  pmperties  and  -ZL  I  ,?T^  5"^  that 
We  only  ask  that  the  ta^  1^  "^  ''^P^ted- 
^hall  n^ain  the  «Se  r»^/''^«'J-    All  laws 
the  e^geneies  of  nuK^^'   wTs°^,^  '" 
pleased  to  have  you  ^..f    •       ^*  """'"''J  >» 

r^er'»--^^-r^rr"^ 
^h^s^^^Xerjt?-:;-^--". 


L 


f^.\ 


\4^'?i^a'  Wiits-.-^iSJi 


14  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

meaningless  disturbances  of  the  last  few  years. 
I  do  not  exaggerate,  seflor,  when  I  state  that 
among  the  genu  di  rason  your  coming  is  not 
unwelc(Mne,  and  I — " 

Stockton  interrupted  his  flow  of  sonorous 
Gistilian. 

"What  is  he  saying,  lieutenant?  My  Spanish 
is  rusty." 

"He  says  the  Spanish  people  are  glad  we  are 
here." 

"Humph,"  remarked  the  commodore.  "I'll 
believe  that  when  we  recover  those  cannon  Castro 
made  away  with." 

Arillo  turned  his  great  dark  eyes  half  scornfully 
on  Stockton;  then,  frowning  a  little,  he  bade 
Carroll  a  courteous  farewell,  and  walked  slowly 
out  the  stockade  gate. 

The  lieutenant  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and 
gazed  dreamily  at  the  sunlit  square  of  the  stockade. 
Incidents  of  the  past  few  days,  though  seemingly 
monotonous,  had  been  eventful  to  him  at  least. 
In  the  still  air  of  the  City  of  the  Angels  he  seemed 
to  feel  the  presence  of  an  overwhelming  fate. 

But  yesterday  he  had  attended  mass  at  the 
Plaza  Church,  and  an  event  which  under  ordinary 
drctmistances  would  have  seemed  trivial  had  been 
the  occasion  of  setting  his  whole  being  a-tingle 
with  romantic  expectancy.  His  erect  figiu-e, 
dad  in  its  uniform  of  blue,  was  the  object  of 


"EUTENANT  JOHN  CARROLL       „ 

1«.  church  h.l^,!^«°"«'''»'  ot  th.  «.,: 

mind  veiy  bu.y^'^ifrl  ""  '*^"-  »^ 
'ong-Sono  year.    ^L  '^"^  "»""*«  of 

VO'  clear  to  Wm«T.^u  ?^  '''°«'  «"<• 
remembered eirf,H!  ""f?  "'«*•  the  well- 
the  same  in  e^^^  T^  °'  »"  ch"che», 

boyhood,  and  tt^^*^:  ^„f^ff  days  of  his 

a  pair  of  wondrous  bll:^  eye,^  ^f*  »'° 
'"""g.  appealine    ou«n~,-  '^  ^*  open, 

admiring,  tha  sA  w«  !  •'    "*"  ""'  ^»^  a^ost 

tips.    Then  ^tiratJTlitT'"^ '°  "^  «»«" 
of  infinite  grace  the  T^        I  movement,  full 

Cosor  a«.-X;  h^d^itr  ttTtt'T"'.'* 
nioving  crowd.  "^  ^^®  slowly 

thi^t^e'trSler"'  T"^  '"""'^  *»"ard 
girl's  r.jZ^'V^^  "^for*  him  again  the 

haironhertempl^^dL^''  "^^  "^  '"'^S 

^  "ashes  as  h^'gti^trf:^:f°-„^ 

g  m  tfte  slight  upward  tilt  of  the  brows. 


.1 


26  THE  DONS  OF  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

Surely,  it  was  a  gleam  of  recognition?  Where 
had  those  eyes  looked  into  his  before,  not  with 
longing,  inquiring  gaze,  but  with  startled  dismay? 
Then  with  a  sudden  illimiinating  flash  came  the 
memory  of  the  face  that  had  vanished  from  the 
window  the  day  the  troops  arrived  in  the  pueblo. 
"You're  lookin*  mighty  solemn,  lieutenant." 
Carroll  looked  up  to  meet  the  quizzical  eyes 
of  a  tall  frontiersman  in  buckskin  coat,  who  was 
doing  sentry  duty  at  the  stockade  gate. 

"Hello,  Jim  Marshall,"  he  said,  cordially, 
"what  do  you  know  to-day?" 

Between  the  warm-hearted  yoimg  lieutenant 
and  the  grizzled  trapper  had  spnmg  up  a  warm 
and  sudden  liking.  Alone  in  one  another's  com- 
pany, their  conversation  was  marked  by  a  famil- 
iarity which  ignored  the  formalities  usual  between 
an  officer  and  an  enlisted  man. 

"Wa-all,"  drawled  Jim,  after  a  hurried  glance 
about  him,  "this  war  ain't  run  quite  to  suit  me. 
The  weather's  a  trifle  warm,  rations  ain't  exactly 
a  Paris  menoo,  our  boys  is  drinkin*  too  much 
wine,  the  fleas  is  workin'  overtime,  the  commodore 
ain't  been  givin'  me  his  entire  cooperation.  Still, 
I  call  this  pueblo  a  fair  to  middlin'  place.  Now 
these  high-class  greasers  has  pretty  good  stuff 
in  them." 
Carroll  suppressed  a  chuckle. 
"Yes,    siree.     Thar's    that    old    sport,    Seiior 


LIEUTENANT  JOHN  CARROLL       „ 
Afiilo,  that  was  in  here  ",  -  --. 
mth  the  saver  dewdad    Tu-"^°°°'  ""«  8™* 
*«•»  all  right,    ^y    -a?  r'  "°''S-    ^'^  b*' 
^"^  didn't  have  it  a.  ""  .    T    ^«^8ton 
ft^tty  sweU  people.  that'^S'  ""Z^  ^f^^- 
«    the   rest   of   thm>-    JT^   ,    ^v«r  met  any 
«»PhaticaUytoguii  Marshall's   grin    w^ 

*veu,  lieutenant   Ipf  t««  *  n 

That  -ere  family  o'w^t  t"e  f^  T  ^"^"^S- 
beauty  of  this  4,p     Tht  M-"-"!°"'^d-doIlar 

young  bucks  aroun*^  h^e  j^'^'^^^i^  *e 
aU  ready  to  throw  tbJZsZdTJ' J""^'"' 
the  groond  for  her  to  wS  ^n  J  ^^^  °° 
see_  nary  one  of  them.  ""*  **  "1°»'' 

Circas^"tL„tJ^^,«^^ '^  «  Pnmny  ^ona  and  a 

according  to  the  custom  ^f  i°  °°*-    "^o"  ^. 
flowers  is  bom  to  ht^       J'"'  """'-7  thes^ 

There  ain't  no  goL-to'Sy'Slt'  ^  ''  ^''^■ 
«P  an'  spoonin-  after  O^lt^f^,^"'-  an'sittin' 

■ike  bacic  in  the  ft^es     r  ^"^^  *°  '^• 

aUey-wuz  doL'l^l  ^i'™^  °™^  thar  in  the 
captain  that  day  beZd  2^"^  "°^^  ^°'  the 
out  of  an  old  ad^at  tZ^,""^'  *  '^ 
■n  particular,  when  T  T  i.  ^'°°S  *«  no  one 
'hat's  the  h^S^J,  !r  f''  ""^  *^  ^^-^dy- 
'he  day  we  b^'^^^^^^j  '"^^  ^er  hoss  Lu, 

»^<- an  Old  grimly  H.;^e:rir^°r; 


>:< 


<<i!  If .        .'I 


28    THE  DONS  OF  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

looks  as  I  kin  at  her  out  of  the  tail  of  my 
eye,  and  say,  lieutenant,  that  girl  is  sure  a 
humdinger." 

Quite  carried  away  by  his  own  eloquence, 
Marshall  continued,  "Why,  if  I  wasn't  akeady  a 
family  man,  with  one  squaw  jerkin'  venison  and 
buffalo  meat  for  me  in  a  tepee  up  on  the  Snake 
River,  and  another  on  the  Truckee,  an'  if  I  was 
twenty  years  yotmger,  it  would  be  me  for  Miss 
Arill'." 

Carroll  started  like  one  awakened  from  sleep. 
This  was  the  girl  at  the  window,  the  seiiorita  he 
had  seen  at  mass.  He  had  met  her  father  this 
afternoon. 

"Yes,  siree,"  continued  Marshall,  "you'd  see 
me  under  her  window  with  a  banjo  or  a  fiddle, 
or  sumthin'  that  'ud  make  music,  rippin'  her 
heart's  strings  out  with  bars  from  'Pop  Goes  the 
Weasel,'  or  'Turkey  in  the  Straw,'  or  sumthin'. 
Yes,  siree,  and  nuthin'  short  of  a  kettle  of  bihn* 
water  or  a  blunderbuss  loaded  with  nails  would 
keep  me  from  movin'  right  into  the  Arillo  family 
an'  campin'.  After  she'd  give  me  the  peace 
sign,  or  throwed  me  a  kiss  or  sumthin',  I  'd  walk 
right  up  to  the  front  door  an'  rap,  an'  if  the  old 
man  opened  it  I  'd  stick  my  foot  in  so 's  he  could  n't 
close  it,  and  say,  'Mister  Arillo,  me  an'  yer  darter 
is  plumb  engaged,  and  ye  may  as  well  get  used 
to  it." 


UEUTENANT  JOHN  CARROLL        . 
,    "Marshan."  asked  Carroll  with  .  ^ 

'-^■^^CZ'.Z^^r^^  that's  a 


m 


CHAPTER  III 


A  CRY  IN  THB  DARK 

""QARKNESS  comes  already,"  said  Senorita 
•*-^  Loreto  Arillo  as  she  drew  her  rebozo  around 
her,  and  rose  to  her  feet.  "Surely  have  I  stayed 
too  late."  She  had  indeed  lingered  long  at  the 
home  of  her  good  aunt,  Dona  Chonita. 

"Santa  Maria,  child!  Thou  wilt  not  venture 
out  alone?  Wait  a  few  minutes,  and  Don  Fer- 
nando will  arrive  and  he  will  escort  thee.  There 
are  always  these  noisy  Americans,  shouting  and 
drinking  beyond  the  plaza.  I  can  hear  them 
often  at  night  over  by  the  wine  shops.  Por  Dios, 
but  they  are  a  strange  people!" 

Loreto  seated  herself  on  the  bench  by  the 
window,  and  for  a  moment  was  silent  as  she 
nervously  plaited  a  fold  in  her  skirt.  Then  she 
said  in  a  low  tone,  her  face  filling  with  a  soft, 
dreamy  light : 
"Ah,  Tia  Chonita,  they  are  not  all  like  that." 
"That  I  do  not  know.  Let  us  hope  not.  But 
they  are  rough  and  imcouth — those  that  I  have 
seen." 

The  girl  smiled  with  che  confident  wisdom  of 
youth.  Her  aunt  was  old-fashioned,  and  there 
was  much  that  she  did  not  know. 

30 


i 

I 

d 

s< 

a 

ai 

A 


A  CRY  IN  THE  DARK 


31 


"But   T'      T  ^" 

^    Child,  child,  I  will  ««^  1. 

<J«wn  howl  came  from  ,.^''.^^.  as  a  lone- 

fance  to  meet  tl,;  bT^^C'.*'""  "^Shtst 
^"ch  nights  as  these-liS,***^,''"-    ^"»  "• 

■iia  nune,  tell  nie  nf  u-       "J^^sity. 

^-^sJ^^-^-^see'^^.^''--- 
r^er,  yL^:^^'   -■  -er;   but  my 
When  a  new  gove^J^/^  "  ,«:^.  Loreto. 
'^npng  with  him  man??  ^^'^^^  Gty, 

-"f  officer  in  gay  do7es     r  """"«  ««""«»«« 
8^'.  but  weU  do  I  Cemt   l"^  °^y  ^  littie 
weeks  they  held  Tf^^tf  b'r  ""  "^°  **<"« 
"ent  house  and  bull  fighTs  jn  ^f '  ,"  """  S°™™- 
your  home  to  the  noTSZ   t  "'l^^  '«y™d 
governor  came  he  wS  ;Lt-?"'*-    With  the 
Matador,  for,  unlike  othn^T  ^  *«  ^'^ 
*«^d  in  gay  colors  butS„      "f*""'  ''"  "^  °ot 
«>me  he  was.  but,  oi.t  Str"."**"    "^"l- 

--tmanhew.,:,-trht'Sr:?^ 


32    THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

grieving  eyes  never  answered  the  warm  glances  of 
the  many  beautiful  sefioritas  who  looked  with 
kindness  upon  him. 

"Never  in  the  bull  ring  was  hand  so  sure  or  eye 
so  true  as  his,  and  they  said  of  him — the  ladies 
that  watched  him  with  kindness  in  their  eyes — 
that  his  somber  garb  was  but  the  outward  sign 
of  his  broken  heart.  Many  bulls  he  killed, 
always  with  that  one,  swift,  stire  stroke,  but  when 
he  looked  up  at  the  wild  huzzas  and  the  flowers 
that  rained  down  upon  him,  there  was  no  pride 
or  joy  in  his  pale  face.  He  saw  the  coming  of  his 
fate,  it  is  believed,  for  on  the  day  that  he  died  he 
made  confession  of  all  his  life  to  Father  Linares. 
How  it  happened  it  is  hard  to  tell.  Some  say  that 
he  stood  as  one  in  a  dream;  others,  that  his  hand 
was  not  sure,  and  that  he  missed  his  stroke,  for 
the  bull  caught  him  on  his  horns  and  tossed  him 
high  in  the  air,  while  the  men  groaned  and  the 
women  covered  their  faces  with  their  hands. 
Then  the  big  beast  trampled  his  black  figure 
into  the  sand,  and  when  they  picked  him  up, 
his  face  was  gone — no  sign  of  featiu-es  was  there 
left! 

"Ah,  how  my  mother  would  shudder  when  she 
told  the  tale!  Buried  he  was  in  the  Campo 
Santo  to  the  north,  but  he  does  not  sleep  wdl, 
for  many  a  time  he  has  been  seen,  but  always, 
always,  is  his  face  covered  with  the  comer  of  his 


A  CRY  IN  THE  DARK 

black  cloak,  as  if  he  wiBed  t),.f 

see  it."  "™*°  ™t  no  man  should 

face  covered  ^tt^l  i?"'"^?«'  J"',  and  his 
never  could  le  be  bZJf  °'  "=  ''o-k-  But 
the  very  memory  oliT^t  1  "T^  "^  '»•  for 
And  often  W^I  h<L^ht  k '.'""  «°  P*- 
to  others.  Always,  ^'""'^  ""^  "PP^^d 
Snef  and  sorrow,  s.^  pw  ttet  "'^^  »«»°* 
you  may  never  see  w^^  ~?  V-'g".  child,  that 

«°  but  a  foolish    p^iinJ^r-  ""™-  '"^^  ^ 
tbee  such  tales."  she?ddX°^  "ZT'r  '^« 

^^rve^n  ""^'^'   -^"l^" ^S 

^  th.1,,  ^,  am^oun^h^I^^r:; 

W:K-l^C^«»ta.    Mother  does  not 

is  but  a  step  up  7e  st-^H  .t  ^^  '°'  «»«•  It 
there  a  smart  m„,^'r^'*°  ""f  ?>«».  and  from 
Tb^-*  was  ^o^^«"^^»y  own  door." 
cloudless,  the  blnr^^h  l  "^  '"^  and 
With  quivering  sul  X  T''"^'*  scintillating 
fbadowy  bre.^S'tf  th^ol^'^  '*°"«'  "  "^ 
h.bUydownthestep:lrr^-S„,J^P;n« 


J 


imiM«toi      :-f\»' 


34    THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

entrance  of  the  plaza,  and  then,  with  a  wildly 
beating  heart,  she  raced  toward  the  veranda  of 
her  own  home,  dimly  seen  in  the  darkness. 

Out  of  the  shadows  lurched  a  shambling  figure; 
a  hand  caught  her  shoulder,  and  a  rough  voice 
gurgled  in  her  ear  in  badly  accented  Spanish: 
"Don't  hurry  so,  little  one." 
She  screamed  in  terror,  and  throwing  oS  the 
rebozo,  which  the  man  held  firmly  in  his  grasp, 
she  tried  to  dart  away,  but  it  was  caught  in  the 
fastening  of  the  brooch  at  her  neck.  The  man 
laughed  gleefully  as,  holding  it  in  one  hand,  he 
stepped  toward  her. 

Close  at  hand  and  out  of  the  darkness  came  a 
tall  man.  Loreto  saw  dimly  the  forward  thrust 
of  his  shoulders,  the  stiffening  of  his  neck  and 
head,  and  heard  the  vicious  smack  of  knuckles 
meeting  flesh  and  bone.  The  ruffian  tottered 
to  the  ground;  then  he  scrambled  to  his  feet  and, 
with  a  roar  like  a  bellowing  bull,  threw  himself 
on  the  newcomer,  belching  brutal  oaths.  Like 
two  pistol  shots  John  Carroll's  two  fists  landed 
full  and  fair  on  his  face  and  jaw.  With  a  shudder 
of  pain,  the  man  sank  again  to  the  ground,  this 
time  motionless. 

For  a  moment  the  girl  clung  to  Carroll's  arm, 
sobbing  hysterically;  then,  as  she  glanced  upward 
through  the  tears  glistening  on  her  cheeks,  the 
light  of  recognition  came  into  her  eyes,  though 


A  CRY  IN  THE  DARK 


th^  d^taes,  hid  the  r^  m^,'"~,  ^^^ 

^jOh-h-hl"   Therewasx^efandgladnessinher 
"Do  not  fear,  sefiorita-  he  wJti  „• 

Latin  races  yields  oX  to  tL  ""r^  °^  ^^^ 

her  heart.    In  lat  mn^    !  u^  "^^^  ^^  ^on 
Arillo  was  his  °°''''*  ^«  ^^^  Loreto 

his  encircling  im  for^^tf      o^^  ^"^^  ^^ 
aU^^the  trach^i:::^/^^^^^^^  with 

No,  sefiorita."    He  I   M  h^^      P^opie. 
and  she  became  mo:::^^^"  -^  ""^ll^y' 
bW.  and  can  hardly  stand  "  ""  '^■ 

hef^eSlTow'^S^^^  T^  *^'"^«'  "-" 
<3mverof  av^^IeTattl^Jr^'  T  «>« 
He  thre,:.  the  door  ok^  al?  ^  *"*"**• 
Seflora  AriUo  aooelL^-  T  '  ^  ^*  *d  so, 
hand.    ATtte  SifV'*?^  "^""^  »  he; 
olose  to  the  blue  "^I'^f  ^"t*"-  ^-^^ 
«=«amed  in  horror  h,^    \^  Amencan,  she 
norror,  bnngmg  Don  Jos4  Antonio 


36    THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

rujjhing  into  the  nxmi,  his  usuaUy  placid  face 
full  of  alann. 

"Take  your  hands  off  my  child,"  Seftora  AriUo 
cned. 

But  Loreto  threw  herself  on  her  mother's 
breast,  sobbing— sobs  that  broke  into  half- 
hystencal  laughter. 

"Mother,  mother,  speak  not  so  to  him.  He 
•'aved  me  from  a  man,  an  awful  man,  who  tore 
my  rebozo  off  in  the  darkness,"  and  she  hid  her 
flushed  face  on  her  mother's  arm. 

Dcm  Jos6  Antonio  was  the  first,  to  grasp  the 
situation^  In  Ce.  ,  n  he  recognized  the  courteous 
young  officer  ox  ....^  headquarters,  and  his  face 
lighted  with  pleasure.  Grasping  the  soldier's 
hand  with  both  of  his,  he  pressed  it  wannly,  and 
said  m  a  voice  full  of  feeling: 

"I  can  find  no  words,  believe  me,  sefior,  to 
express  our  thanks  and  gratitude  for  your  gallant 
conduct.     You  are  indeed  welcome  to  our  home 
now  ^d  always.    It  is  aU  yours,  sefior.    Seflora 
Kmz  de  Anllo,  my  wife,  Lieutenant  CarroU  " 

The  seftora  ga/e  him  her  hand,  and  her  words 
echoed  her  husband's  warm  thanks  and  courteous 
greetmg. 

"Ah,  sefiora,"  said  the  American,  as  he  bowed 
over  her  hand,  "I  see  plainly  now  why  your 
daughter  IS  so  beautiful.  She  is  so  by  the  divine 
nght  of  inhentance." 


A  CRY  IN  rtrs  DARK 


For  the  day,  whaT&fl^  7^*^ '""' P'«»«"«. 
Ruiz.  wa.  the  "f^^J^"-  ">!"  Seflorita 
twenty  year,  ag^Tlt^  t  ^  '^""°-  *''°"«'> 
>»  to  any  womm  oft  ''"'  "  ^^  "^d 
t™ly.   in  the  S  1-H  T;T  '"™'°'^-    And 

•^auty  that  had  Mt  a^,^    t     ""'=''  »'  the 
the  «tays  of  the  p^j  °^*  ""«  ^eart,  of  men  in 

Caii^»%^'2°?  5:',V^'n<»t  -^  a 
you  are  an  Ame„"c^  -        ^^  '"  "'  '»  ^^Ueve 

that-I  vm  not  say  ttat   f^^u"*"-    '^°'  "°t 

•       »"e  AmericaL^  • 'Xm    r  *^' """ 
a^^mied."  °°^    ^    am    truly 

"True,   sefior,"  said   Ar,ii« 
are  both  good  ^d  ^^  ^""^y-    "There 

devil  has  h^  J^        "^  ^'"""^  ^  nations.    The 
Jr     „  ^^  o^  everywhere."  ® 

t^rroU  glanced  at  his  watch   «r,^ 

••inTittr::^-'«-v-tSd^rctl:t^: 

«^t  appeared  withlriST^         ^"^^  "">  ^ 

'.e«idrhe'::*^r^:?ir"^>''' 

*"»  gxass,    and  may  we  have 


I      I:- 


38    THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

the  very  great  pleasure  of  seeing  you  often  in 
our  home." 

"The  pleasure  will,  for  me,  indeed  be  great, 
Sefior  Arillo,"  repUed  CarroU  seriously,  and  he 
looked  into  the  eyes  of  the  girl,  whose  answering 
gaze  -net  his  without  evasion. 

He  rose  to  go,  and  as  he  took  Loreto's  hand  in 
his  he  raised  it  boldly  to  his  lips.  Childishly  she 
hid  her  face  against  her  mother's  arm.  He  met 
the  sefiora's  look  of  displeasure  with  one  of  reso- 
lute, good-natured  defiance.  In  the  custom  of 
the  land  and  of  the  time,  he  was  now  an  avowed 
suitor  for  the  hand  of  Loreto  Arillo. 

"Truly  a  fine  young  man,  that,"  observed  Don 
Jos6  Antonio  as  he  lighted  a  long  black  cigar  and 
resumed  his  seat  at  the  table.  "How  well  he 
speaks  Castilian,— with  just  the  sUghtest  trace 
of  accent." 

Sefiora  Arillo  was  in  a  brown  study.  All  too 
plainV  she  had  read  the  telltale  look  in  her  daugh- 
ter's lace,  and  the  proud  but  kindly  defiance  and 
glad  confidence  in  the  blue  eyes  of  Carroll.  Her 
position,  her  power  as  a  mother,  had  been  ignored. 
Her  irritation  grew ;  her  face  became  firm  and  hard. 

"It  is  sad  to  think  such  a  fine  young  man  is  a 
heretic,"  she  said,  purposely  mimicking  her  hus- 
band's words. 

"Ah!  but  mother,  he  is  not,"  protested  Loreto, 
her  face  flushed  with  eager  gladness. 


A  CRY  IN  THE  DARK 


^^Z^Z^^U^T:   '^'W^.    What  h  " 

"Nothing.  Ztl^L  i.^d'iS^r"'  H^'y- 
I»rt  of  the  questiOT  llT  ^  "^  ""•  «"' 
sudden  mischirf  ""  '^^  "^  «t  with 

"I  have  n^ersnTkt  ^""^.T"*"""  '*'°«''" 

to-night.    Oh  moZ,     ..     ^'"""  '^^U  before 
•p-       t-         ■       t™'^' "hat  a  manhp  i.i    u 
Bmg.  bing,'  and  he  feU  like  »  rf.!^  .  "°''' 

over."  she  prattled  menify    "  ^  "*•     ^'  ^<^ 

Can^U  befoj^l^afattnce^  "'^  ^«- 
At  mass,  mother." 

Andtho.ha!?l^ttt:hhf*^    ^^' 
^---an  Arnerican  and  a  Sretfe "*  ^^"  '^^'^ 

"Ah.  mothefmither?  tlT'^^'^-^''- 
an  the  daughte;  of  Eve  aslTorf"  T^""^  °^ 
even  as  thine  eyes  stmv^         *'  ''"""''    '^'^ 
little  thou  cared  L  thl^^^  "^''  «  «»«'  ^d 

at  whom  thT^^c^'^f""^*-  °^  "<"  he 
"Ti,*.^  ^^ancea  was  a  heretic  or  no  " 

There  were  no  heretics  in  CaliforSaTn  those 


40    THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

days.    The  times  are  changed,  and  not  for  the 
better." 

"He  is  not  a  heretic,"  persisted  Loreto,  her 
face  f uU  of  mischief,  but  her  head  held  low  as  she 
idly  twisted  a  silken  ribbon  in  her  white  fingers. 

"But  how  knowest  thou?  Speak;  has  he  told 
ineer 

"I  told  thee  that  I  have  never  exchanged  words 
with  him  before  to-night,"  she  said,  with  exas- 
perating slowness. 

"Loreto,"  snapped  her  mother,  "thou  wouldst 
try  the  patience  of  a  s^t.  TeU  me  how  thou 
knowest,  or  thou  shalt  be  sent  to  bed." 

"When  a  man  bends  his  head  at  the  ringing  of 
the  mass  beU,  even  as  we  do,  he  can  be  no  heretic," 
she  repUed,  her  triumphant  gaze  searching  her 
mother's  face. 

"Ah,  is  it  so?"  said  Don  Jos6  Antonio  with 
mterest.  It  was  plain  that  the  news  was  not 
unwelcome  to  him.  "I  do  not  doubt  it,  and  I 
do  not  marvel  now  that  I  liked  him  from  the 
first. 

^  But  Sefiora  Arillo  was  stubbornly  incredulous. 
Never,  never,  have  I  known  of  an  American  who 
was  a  CathoUc.  Frenchmen,  yes;  Germans,  Irish- 
men, even  Enghshmen  have  I  heard  of  who  were 
of  the  true  faith— but  Americans,  never.  I  do 
not  beheve  it.  No,  he  is  a  sharp  young  man 
and  polite,— that  I  can  see,— so  in  church  he  does 


A  CRY  IN  THE  DARK 

iust  as  the  others  do     "r  • 

and  admirable  "  ^  graceful  of  him, 

home  in  the  church  "  ^  ^®  ^^  at 

land  or  Ma.  and  ^ttoh,^t    ,**"  "*"«•  **»  on 
melodies,  of  43^^'°"i"!'*  ^P»K  «c«t 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  SON  OF  LEO  THE  STIUNGER 

ame  moment  everv  m^^'  "^  ^t  the 

«tu^  at  the  Z7,:^J'  ^l  P-«-Uy 
gious  regularity     Ev»r„  v  ^'^     *^°*'  '"^  reM- 

Bom  and  .afaed  in^l  m  '''  ^"^  '°  "°  °*er 
stem  old  "itch  bu^g":^"L"';f°f  '°"°'  °^ 
ancient  nam>wness  bu"  nonttf  tt  ^.  ^  *^ 
of  ready  adaptability  th^t  hi.  T  ^^  '^'^'^ 
S««.  in  aU  liids  and  in^ri  .^  ^"  ""^  ^™g 
the  Puritan  ^d  Mg^'"  l"'^ •  °'  '^"^  ~"^  °^ 
Poi^ul  dignity  of  t&  ,1°.?"  ^,  ^«>t. 
^as  but  the  sultiness  rf^  **"''  *  ''<«'* 

their  «,Iorful  gT^^  Ity  S":"  '^^  "''' 
the  average  man  of  the^^^it  '^'"*''-  ^^ 
he  despised  and  iZsX^"' T^f' 

;^.  and  to  him  there  w^  butTttle  H**-'^^'" 
between  the  Dons  ;„  ,fc«     ""' "ttle  distinction 

'«eed  their  d«^t  fr^  T^^"'  ''^''  P--»"dIy 

the  sunburnt  plains  ^"  ''^*'^  fro» 

Much  to  his  g,.tification.   two  of  the  guns 


42 


^^^^^"^ '°^  O^  ^EO  THE  STRANGER  ,3 
Z^.  "'^TSt^?.^  '"^«'  flight  wel' 

■"  hfng  at  their  ra^^^JT^'o-  "^o  had  been 
™e  by  one  and  withoMa^^  ch.-T"^'  "'"""l 
Pf «"es  not  to  bear  ani^^  i^"»»  gave  their 
f 'a««-    In  charge  ^e^.*«*^  the  United 
«"«  bringing  hii  inVot^^f,'^*^  P^H 
men  of  the  pueblo,  was  n.  .     *  *"  ""^  leading, 
fonn«.ly  of  t.fe  M^^^?^'J»haCam,lf 
fnative  dignity  of  Te  J^T    ^*"'«™  the 
brusqueness  otcZtZ  J^'^^^'i  ^  S^ 
'^"""alityandhis^^^"';-  Cam.ll's  ta^ 
dunng  n^y  yea^"^llCastiaan,  acquired 
^ways  as  a  buffer,  tho^h^r*."  ,^"'"''   =tood 
ta».  with  his  cust^mar^L    *"  ^*-  the  cap. 
unaware.  "^  obtuseness.  was  utter^ 

Gillie's  first  offi  *  i 
P«.cIamation  dZ^di^^  T  *«  ^"^  of  a 
f^  and  ammunition^  t^.  /"^'^«'  °f  all 
fes.    Gatherings  otL^,^-^^'^  authori- 
vate,  were  forbMd^  ^^LT*^  ^"^'^  »'  Pri- 
had  been  given.    nTZl^'f  '"^  ^t 
to  keep  within  doors  aft^.^''  ""-^  '^ed 
nation  ended  withl^^^^^f  .'•.»<>  the  procla- 
any  '  conduct  prej„di<S^'!f^^""<=tion  against 
•^tions,  however  ^f°^.»°'«ls"    P~c- 

f°Ple  of  the  pueblo    ^v^5"^  r"  *»  the 
»d  went  their  ways  m^'L^^^  "-iably. 


I 


44    THE  DONS  OP  THE  01 D  PUEBLO 
As  the  captain  sat  at  a  paper-strewn  table  in 

^\^  ^^  ?l°^  *^^  "^°^  ^  t^«  1°°«  adobe 
to  the  nght  of  the  open  stockade,  his  tight-fitting 
blue  jacket  buttoned  close,  though  the  day  was 
swdtenng,  his  narrow  back  stiffly  erect,  the  single 

h'S  ^  *^T^  ^  "^"^""y  "^^'^^  ^oss  his 
bald  head,  he  was  the  veiy  embodiment  of  mili- 

taiy  exactitude.  As  he  wrote,  his  hand  plucked 
restlessly  at  his  nervous  underlip.  Suddenly  he 
put  down  his  pen,  glanced  at  his  watch,  and 
steppmg  to  the  door,  spoke  to  the  sentry- 

"It  IS  ten  o'clock.  Brooks,  notify  the  sergeant 
to  bring  from  the  guardhouse  the  priscners 
arrested  last  night."  «»^"cr5 

The  marine  saluted,  marched  across  the  sunny 
square  of  the  stockade,  and  in  a  few  minuti 
returned  with  a  score  of  prisoners.    Lieutenant 
Carroll  appeared  from  the  next  room  and,  pen 
m  hand,  took  his  place  at  the  table.    He  was 
followed  m  a  moment  by  Second   Lieutenant 
bomers.  a  somber-faced  man  with  a  bushy  head 
of  ruddy  hair,  and  a  world  of  melancholy  in  his 
deep-set  gray  eyes.    Here,  daily.  Captain  GiUie 
as  provost  marshal  under  mihtaiy  rule,  disposed 
of  the  numerous  cases  brought  before  him. 

Among  the  accused  were  young  men  who,"  guitar 
in  hand,  had  been  arrested  under  the  windows 
of  their  seiioritas;  others,  whose  sole  offense  was 
that  they  had  attended  a  family  gathering  for 


THE  SON  OP  .KO  THB  STK^OE.  « 
tne  celebration  of  a  rhr,=»     • 
fanchos.  ab«„t  from  th   SLT^"^  '""'  '"e 
?«1  mnocently  ridden  fat„       fo-- months,  who 
»  their  sashes;  In<K^    '°  1,  °""  '""'  P^'ok 
f  the  street  by  the^v^^^  "^  "toacated 
^^  eyes  still  4  f^riaTn?".""*'  ""»  P^"^. 

Captain  Gillie's  w!  ""^t's  debauch 

tion  was  har^'AS^S'^f"  °'  *^  P-^^^^- 
«°d  severe.  Du„,b  S'JT  ''^"^  P«»npt 
oners  were  fed  away  ZJT^"^'-  «>«  Pns- 
theguanJhouse  of  the  posT^       ^  sentences  in 

"hen  the  last  of  tho  r  » 
Lieutenant  CaroU  sat  ^Z^-,"**  *'=P°«d  of, 
at  the  oppos.te  ZlZa^^^f^''  ""^ng 
heavy  mustache.    Forl;'^^  *!  ^""^  °f  his 
»nously  considering  th^^vf  ?',•'"  ^  >««■» 
suggesting  to  Capta^  oLir^^fy  °^  >>oldIy 
fymg  his  stringentTru^»,-  '''^,'"«J°'n  of  modi- 
of  the  pueblo.    But  f^!!'°°"  ^  ">«  governing 

of   the   New  Engti^et T!,*^  *""  ^'-^^ 
hearted  Celtic  t^^^f  f.   ^""'s   warn,, 
^ght   sympathy   b^^    ^  "^  °°t  only 
Such  action,  m^reo^^l  ZJT^^''?''  '^'^■ 
flagrant  breach  of  nS^JTit^*'"  '^  *  »ost 
t^hi  was  a  man  who^^/"""*"*-    The  cap. 
advice,  and  aU  of  d:^u?±r,r',°^ '^S  f« 
««gestions  had  not^i  ^T   f"^'^''  ^^^ed 
scousness.    Lieutenant loZ'^!'^  °"  '^  «>»- 

^es  looked  long  and  stea^^.^th^rT"  ^^ 
4  ^  ^'^  *^e  captain,  but 


46  THE  DONS  OF  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

he  said  nothing.  He  was  a  strangely  silent 
man.  During  his  two  weeks'  association  with 
Gillie  and  Carroll  he  had  never  addressed  them, 
except  in  regard  to  necessary  matters  of  military 
routine. 

The  morning  had  seen  but  the  average  grist 
of  petty  oflfenders  of  the  lower  class,  but  several 
days  before  a  score  of  the  principal  Dons  of  the 
pueblo  had  been  haled  before  the  captain's  court 
and  fined  heavily  for  some  trifling  infractions  of 
the  ordmances.    The  fines  were  paid  with  proud 
promptitude,  but  the  Califomians  had  left  the 
court  room,  their  eyes  flashing  with  rage,  their 
hps   white  with   suppressed   indignation.    That 
the  attitude  of  the  people  toward  the  Americans 
had  changed  in  the  last  ten  days,  Carroll  was 
well  aware.    Their  surly  demeanor  and  averted 
glances  told  only  too  plainly  that  they  had  come 
to  regard  their  conquerors  with  aversion  and 
distrust. 

ITiere  was  trouble,  too,  within  the  stockade 
With  the  exception  of  a  dozen  marines,  the  fifty 
men  of  GiUie's  command  were  the  former  Bear 
Flag  rebels;  men  whom  the  lure  of  the  Wander- 
lust had  drawn  to  this  western  coast;  men  who 
had  fought  the  wild  Indians  of  the  plains,  trapped 
the  wily  beaver  on  the  lonely  reaches  of  unnamed 
streams,  and  faced  death  in  a  hundred  forms  in 
distant  mountain  canons.    Poor  material  were 


^,    """  ^^  ">'  ^=0  THE  STRANGER  ,, 

the^'ci^la^.:  ;S^.1S:r^*-'f«-«  «o  dear  to 
had  been  to  him  a  long  drf ^.  *°  ™P«^  them 
■nen  a  roaring  lucTw^T'^f^y  ""1  »<>  the 
to  be  found  fa  ^LJ^"'  °*  •'"ty  they  were 
Nigger  AJley  «  th!  i^  .k  **  ""*  '^«  ^ops  in 
and  hardly  a  dly  p^St^  T "  "'  *"«  P-^ 
d-^gged.  fighting'1^;'*'^"»«"n"»«we,; 

'"^r^o-i-th°^L^r"'^  »'"P'* 

act«n^  t^r  ^"^  °'  »*«'  Spanish  char- 
easy  indolencTld  "  ^'  *°<^"«»«.  its 
the  man  of  •innei^'HS™  «»tempt  ^"^ 
action.    As  he  steDoedX,,      f     ^P^"*  a°d 

sunshine  the  soundTf,^     ""^  *^  """^g 
came  to  him  f«^  tl^  *,^«'  /™nken  choruf 

he  sighed  wearil"        ^^°"  "'  *«  Pla^a.  and 

th^  itd"to°  ^'"'tC.h""^'^"'  *°"*'' 
across  the  stockade  tkT?  .  ^  °P™  '^dw 
MarehaU.  '   ""*  '*"<Jent  voice  of  Jin, 

s  Jd  Z  S;a^^nlfl^P'r ,  don't  under- 
nuthin>  but  ordered™  ,!  f""*  understand 
on  startin.  a  stS.tup  fi^t  ""^  ^'t  "uch 
medicine  if  ye^h^h?  'l.''"*  *hey  is  sure  bad 
enough.  If  f4™^'S^  '?«  ""^g  way  long 
heU  apoppin^  in  th,?!^      ^.''^''P'  °n,  thar'U  be 

Goodr5::tuX"i'f„°'^ « ^^'^  °'  '^  ~ 


iH  ■/■' 


i 


■ 


48    THE  DONS  OF  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

A  few  moments  later  the  lieutenant  encountered 
MarshaU  at  the  stockade  gate.  The  frontiersman 
was  leading  a  horse,  burdened  with  a  roll  of 
blankets,  from  the  folds  of  which  the  handles  of 
a  pick  and  shovel  protruded. 

"Why,  Jim,"  queried  Carroll,  as  he  eyed  the 
outfit  curiously,  "where  are  you  going?" 

"Jest  off  to  the  mountings  for  a  little  picnic  by 
myself.  An  old  trapper  like  me  gets  kinda 
restless  here  in  town,  with  the  houses  and  the 
people  acrowdin'  him. "  Something  of  embarrass- 
ment was  evident  in  Marshall's  manner.  As  he 
nervously  fumbled  with  the  butt  of  his  rifle,  his 
tisuaUy  straightforward  gaze  fell  before  the  lieu- 
tenant's keen  scrutiny. 

"I  got  leave  of  absence  for  two  days  from  the 
captain,"  he  explained,  after  a  moment's  hesita- 
tion. 

"Bring  us  back  some  bear  meat,  Jim,"  suggested 
the  lieutenant  as  he  turned  away. 

"Mebbe,  mebbe."  His  leathery  face  twisted 
m  a  curious  grin,  the  frontiersman  led  his  horse 
on  out  the  gate. 

StiU  smiling  at  MarshaU's  unusual  demeanor, 
for  It  was  quite  evident  the  frontiersman  had 
something  to  conceal,  CarroU  strolled  on  idly  up 
the  adobe-lined  street.  St  ^lenly  screams  of 
pain,  and  the  sound  of  smacidng  blows  on  bare 
flesh,  caused  him  to  turn  and  gaze  back  towa'xi 


THE  SON  OP  LEO  THE  STRANGER  „ 

quirt,  seart^g  ;^' J'I'I  ^  »*  the  leathern 

coveiTTo^d^*'  ISr^  °"  *«  '^'^  Wood- 
weaWvfn.fcT  .        "^y  himself,   climrinif 

-as  ^hea"  S  Srt.'"*,  "'"'^  ^-« 
vindictiveness.        "^^^   ''"*  "°''  <»««b«»te 

sq^set'^y'^rl,  TT^   *"  '--in- 
bound abou^^i,  TJ^^lt'fZ  "r  "- 

eve,m.g  he  had  hearkened  to^he^l"!^  ""! 
the  Indian  woman.  Prophecy  of 

the'^-tirf  Jr"**  "'""'  ">«  American  gras,«d 

-in:^4'r'»^"'^''°--'^«^t^ 

y<^:    """•■'   ''^  P«"«'ed.    "you   f„^ 
•^^tfth'^ht'^HelS  ^"^  ""^  — 

"the  L  •     •    •"  '^'^'«>  ^  a  d«P  ba^oj^' 

the  boy  js  my  servant— he  has  i^a^  Z?    ' 

May  I  not — "  ^  disobedient. 


•  mi 


50  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

and  in  the  public  stiw^/^        '  »erv«nt.- 

Rid.  on.  ««or ."  h.  Z^"^^  °f  •  ^^  ^i 
place  you  under  arrest  "  ''^^^y*     or  I  will 

tos.  of  his  sha^i;  Jr  i'hH::::'"""" 

the  street  tov  ,rf  the  pUz,  ^  •■"*  """P 

^_^^  nessea  the  encounter  with  a  grim 

'•Good  work,  lieutenant,"  he  called    "h  . 

better  take  keer  of  yerself     T V-  k    "    J"'"  y* 

ots  about  that  ya  JhSi  i^'^^T^* 

to  me  as  full  of  nrMc««  ureaser.    He  looks 

a  bad  one  "    "' P<»«»""  «  ^Wer.    ru  bet  he's 

tBoughtfuuy  ::w^a%ht"p^u:rhe  r-/ 

haired  man  had  disappeared     H-         *f.  "°°'*- 
lating  as  to  the  iden^^'thf  *  t!f  '""  "P^"" 

'»biddi„«P««»Uitran1tLS:Temt^ 


C^S^'t*^ 


THE  SON  OP  LEO  THE  STRANGER  j, 

"M^tod  him  from  a  noar-by  veranda, 
^t^hm^^'"'"*'^"  •-'«"»««-«•    Come 

^  of  friendly  famili^^y  "V^  ^e'^ 

"Wio  is  the  caballero  with  the  yel!o»-  hair  -!.„ 
P««<'  ju'it  a  moment  ago?-  quSTwi. 

San  Mari„rH;  k  nofo^?,"''*  °' *'''-■  ^^^o 
^or.  but  a  -mestl^''  a  h^^^f "!?  t  "^• 
a  fojeigner  and  aallSUl^".^'  ""^  ^  "^ 

|0-Au,nstm.smam,ertht:;to^J^^^^™ 
-nu,^  were  rare  u^'ciuZtr^^^^-J^^ 


i'l 


^sm^^^^^immmm^- 


5.    THE  DONS  OF  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 
Prom  iTfaS  ^vZ'  T^  »  ^°^- 

and  the  feud  between  them."  ' 

"Don  Jos«  Antonio  Arillo'" 

Alyaro's  sharp  eyes  twinUed  a  little  at  th. 
qmdc  «terest  evident  in  the  lieutenam's  1^ 

The  same-DonJos«  Antonio.  llTms 
1*0    he  continued,  "was  ambitious  cle^  Zf 

exiled  to  S^oCLX^oW  ^'°°^°  '^ 
of  Arillo's  ^^tT^'^'f^J^^ 

four  years  Leo  held  them,  but  wh^  AriSo  r^;,  ^ 
by  stealth  fo>m  Sonora/and^to  mS^  ^^"^ 
another  revolution  agii^  rt,  ^^^ 

-  i^-ed  at  the  gr^^Xltle^S  r  ?^^ 
And  the  new  governor  gave  back  to  TW^  x 
Antonio  the  ^ncho  of  the  S^  PaSuS^;^°t 

father,  nor  Zi:^orJX.l  Z'Z'^^t 
with  the  unbehevable  effront«y  of  his  father!  he 


THE  SON  OP  LEO  THE  STRANGER  ss 

•laoghter  in  cartas     Tt^°."!.':  *^<i  "f   hfe 
«dded  fuel  to^t  JZ    f  *^'  *«'•  ^  but 

■•He  hassle  me2^i"^A"i°°^<'- 
■»an  Vanuela,  for  ll^Z^°'  "*^*'  >»»  this 
S«"  Marino,  'and  C,  S  S."""  *^  ^*° 
cattle,  hides,  and  tJSw  to  tJ^'f"  ^"'  »"* 
on  the  coast.  YetTtLT  ^mencan  ships 
the  ««,te  <fe  ^^^^  ^.«'"«  no  "an  or  woman  of 

Like  his  fath.^;^  ^° '~'«'  ."^-"y  upon  him. 
•x^People.    Heis  Wot^t"'T  '^  *«  "ays  of 

Father  EstenagaoTlTpttrSf^-,  ^''""S'" 
»«.  yet  do  I  believe  "  w^      ^  ^"^^^  at 
"that  Leo,  the  fal^'ofT!  °?  ^"  A«8»=tin, 
by  the  devil  or  in  Teale^^f  v"^  '^^'^^ 
much  reason  for  so  thiS  "voa  ™-    ™^  '^ 
lieutenant,  the  great  r^^'tt,/     '^  ranember, 
oak?    We  rodeTt^'fh'^''>""'y  the  giant 
^n  nodded       ^         °"^  afternoon." 
"That,  seiior,  is  the  Dew,!',  n    . 

?r^-  Much  Z^^^  tt~ry  *  =P<" 
beiore  the  coming  of  rt.  .,  ^^  ">*  Indians 
the.^  are  but^rL  1?^^.  ""^  ^»  ^et 
««.te<fer<B«,,whodonoti2^^  ^'  *""  "^  the 
the  eva  one.  But  rf  ^,^Tr"  *°  ^  '°^«1  of 
neither  God  mT  '  *!'  '»?'  ^eo,  who  feared 
''-«his'fZlte":<^^^''>^-ofe^ 

--nd  about  the  San  ptTu^,I^:,:;2j;n<h^^. 


54    THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

they  heard  the  man  Leo  more  than  once  singing 
htames  m  an  unknown  tongue  to  the  devil,  there 
m  the  moonhght." 

Alvaro's  keen  glance  noted  CarroU's  amused 
smile. 

"T^.!!  r^^^T.*^  '°'  ^'''''  ^^  P^tested. 
That  the  devil  has  entered  into  men  we  know 

from  Holy  Writ,  and  why  not  now?  The  evil 
one  is  as  cunning,  and  his  arm  is  as  long,  as  ever 
It  was.  But  again-the  man  Leo  may  have  been 
only  cra^  drunk,  for  in  those  later  days  he  drank 
much  of  the  red  wine  of  the  country,  which  is 
bad,  very  bad  for  foreigners.  With  Spanish  blood 
only  does  it  mix  wrell." 
"Of  what  nation  was  Leo?" 

T  r^*«  ^""^  °°*-    ®"*  "^^^  tl^  once  have 

P^/    r  ^^'  ^  ^^^"^  P"^t  °f  San 
Pemando,  who  alone  of  aU  the  men  in  California 

perhaps.  Leo  loved,  caU  him  with  much  laughtei^ 
a  Vikmg,"  whatever  that  may  mean  ' 

lieiit^t""  '"'  "°  '^"^^^- "  ^"^^--^  *^« 
"It's  his  mother's  name,  seftor-his  mother's 
Spamshname.  What  was  Leo's  other  name  we 
never  Imew.  Prom  the  day  he  came  ashore  at 
ban  Pedro  thuty  years  ago,  his  face  wide  open 
with  a  fresh  knife  slash,  to  the  day  he  lay  dead  at 
our  feet  at  San  Pemando,  he  was  a  mystery  and 
a  marvel  to  us  all."  j       j      ^ 


THE  SON  OP  LEO  THE  STRANGER  55 

"WeU."  said  CarroU  as  he  rose  to  go  "the  man 
Hugo  IS  stiil  voting     T^f  «<,  u     \.    '  °^^ 

howj  that  hi  ^r^'  "^  ^  charitable,  and 

^bl  at  lir^  ""P'°^"  ^^  year^-thkt  he 
wia  be  at  least  an  improvement  on  his  father  '• 
^^^Augustu.  mted  his  Shoulder  i„  a'^^f 

mJ  '*?^"°*'  **'*•    "^  f»*«-  was  a  bad  bad 
man  and  h«  mother  an  Indian  of  the  C^Zias^ 

though  mi^on  bred.    The  blood  in  W^  is 

ana  tiie  samts  can  avail  but  littu     *k«    t.  5, 
good  Ix>rd  pardon  me  to  sa^  tt'"    ^  "" 


a  I 


CHAPTER  V 

BNGLANO'S  AGENT 

'pHE  dingy  little  room  was  dusty,  unswept, 
and  festooned  with  grimy  cobwebs  hanging 
m  the  dark  comers.  On  the  cracked  and  time- 
soiled  walls  the  distorted  shadows  of  the  two  men 
at  the  table,  stirred  to  life  by  the  idle  flickering 
of  the  candle  flame,  swayed  grotesquely. 

Hugo  Vanuela  threw  down  his  cards  with  a 
muttered  oath. 

"The  devil  himself  is  in  the  cards  to-night— I 
can  win  nothing."    He  reached  over  to  the  bottle 
and  filled  the  glass  with  red  wine. 

The  other,  a  big  bearded  man  in  the  leather 
leggmgs  of  a  vaquero,  gathered  up  the  cards  and 
laid  them  aside  in  a  neat  pile.  Pocketing  the 
com  on  the  table,  he  remarked  philosophicaUy  as 
he  lifted  the  candle  to  light  his  cigarette: 

"Truly,  Senor  Vanuela,  it  comes  in  that  manner 
sometimes,  to  aU  of  us.  But  before  we  began  at 
the  cards  you  were  saying  that  Governor  Pico 
and  Commandant  Castro  were  quarreling  before 
the  Americans  came." 

"Yes,  for  neariy  a  year— always.  Then  Castro 
went  north.  Then  there  came  into  the  San 
Joaqmn  Valley  this  American  Fremont,  with  his 
fur  traders  and  trappers.    Later  they  made  a 

56 


ENGLAND'S  AGENT  5; 

revolution  and  seized  Sonoma.  Then  Commodore 
Stockton  and  his  ships  came  to  Monterey.  Com- 
mandant Castro  tried  to  raise  men  for  an  anny 
to  fight  the  American,  while  Don  Pio  Pico  was 
,  here  asking  for  men  to  fight  Castro. 

"Both  Pico  and  Castro  wrote  haughty  letters 
to  one  another,  and  made  proclamations.    It  is 
aU  very  funny  now.  as  one  looks  back— the  Ameri- 
cans came  so  soon.    Then  both  Pico  and  Castro 
returned  to  the  pueblo  with  their  Uttle  armies 
and  embraced.    But."  he  added  with  a  shrug  of 
his  shoulders,  "the  people  did  not  want  to  fight  " 
"Was  the  legislature  in  session  when  they 
returned  to  the  south?"  asked  the  bearded  man 
as  he  shot  a  sly,  sidewise  glance  at  the  Califomian' 
"Yes,  sefior,  they  were  busy  with  the  plan  of 
Padre  MacNamara.    Pico,  after  he  came  back 
favored   the  plan.    After  talking  for  a  whole 
week,  they  adopted  it." 

"MacNamara— I  do  not  think  I  have  heard  of 
him.  Agam  his  fuU  brown  eyes,  from  betv  een 
tus  half-closed  eyelids,  were  stealthily  searching 
Vanuela's  face. 

"Santa  Maria,  but  that  was  a  plan!"  Hugo 
a)ntinued,  with  a  flash  of  enthusiasm.  "That 
Padre  MacNamara,  por  Dios,  but  he  wasaman'— 
taller  even  than  you,  and  broad  — like  a  church 
door.  To  the  legislature  he  talked  for  hours,  for 
days,  and  held  them  Ustening  like  children.    He 


58    THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

asked  them  for  much  land  in  the  north,  whereon 
to  settle  many  thousand  of  his  countrymen,  the 
people  of  Ireland;  for  the  Irish,  as  you  may  not 
Imow  sefior,  are  CathoHcs.  and  not  heretics  like 
the  English  and  Americans." 

The  ghost  of  a  smile  showed  under  the  black 
beard,  and  the  listener  nodded  silently. 

"There  were  many  rich  men  of  England  with 

l^u'^^l  ^'  ?^'  "^^  ^^^  Sreat  comiections, 
and  had  it  been  but  a  few  months  earHer  it  would 
have  saved  us  from  the  coming  of  these  cursed 
Amencans.  If  it  had  been  in  time.  England 
would  never  have  permitted  California  to  be  taken 
away  from  them,  and  the  American  commodore 
would  not  have  dared  to  place  his  flag  on  the 
customhouse  at  Monterey.  For  EngUsh  ships 
wrth  maiiy  cannon  were  there  in  the  bay  at  the 

"Truly,  a  magnificent  plan!  As  you  say  it 
would  have  made  a  great  nation  of  Calif omk  — 
a  great  Christian  nation." 

Through  the  closed  door  came  the  raucous  roar 
of  a  dnnkmg  song,  and  the  maudlin  laughter  of 
mtoxication.  * 

•'And  the  p«)ple?"  queried  the  bearded  one. 

Are  they  satisfied  with  the  present  regime?" 

Ten   thousand  devils,   no!    They  hate  the 

Amenc^s.    Not  a  cockfight  since  they  entered 

the  pueblo.    One  camiot  go  on  the  street  after 


ENGLAND'S  AGENT  ^ 

im^  derazcn  have  aU  signed  the  p^fe  „ot^ 

fight^ttheAmerican^the.^tLis?!'^ 
Have  you  signed  the  parole?"  ^' 

The  brovn  face  o£  Vanuela  nv4rf«,^ 
answered  shortly,  "No  "  """ened.  and  he 

oth^^.'^vr^fs;>--««e 

in  *S^l,'c~  ""•    ^- •««- that  he  is 
"He  is  not." 

The  bearded  one  was  on  his  feet  nn™.  " .     ^^^^ 
hoId^gtheCahfo^ian.    T^^^^e^,^ 

the  strong  hnes  of  his  features,  the  piercing  ktn 
ness  of  his  eknce  anH  ^h^  u  \a  ^'^^^^S  ^een- 
fuU  brown  eve  -^  J  ^  assurance  in  his 
tm  Drown  eye.  His  very  personality  radiated 
^wer  but  Ins  smile,  as  he  gazed  at  V^uda  w2 
seductive  and  winning.  *«iueia,  was 

"He  is  here,"  he  said  quietly. 

Vanuela  sprang  to  his  feet,  and  stepped  back. 


6o    THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

Then,  as  his  glance  swept  the  other's  countenance 
—the  full,  broad  brow,  the  masterful  gaze— the 
light  of  recognition  came  into  the  Califomian's  face. 
"So — you  are — " 

"Padre  MacNamara,  at  your  service.  Three 
months  in  the  hills  have  given  me  this."  He 
touched  his  beard  with  his  hand. 

"You  do  not  seem  overcome  with  joy  at  seeing 
me,  my  friend."  He  showed  his  white  teeth  in  a 
smile,  a  smile  that  in  many  lands  had  won  its 
way  to  the  hearts  of  men  and  women  alike. 

Vanuela  regarded  him  for  a  moment,  distrust 
showmg  m  every  line  of  his  countenance. 

"So-o-o,"  he  said  slowly.  "But  why  do  you 
tell  me  this?  What  is  to  prevent  me  from  inform- 
ing the  Americans  ? " 

MacNamara  laughed.  "Because,  my  friend, 
I  know  men,  and  you  are  not  the  man  to  betray 
to  the  enemies  of  your  country  one  who  has 
drunk  with  you.  Especially  when  it  is  your 
much  admired  MacNamara,  the  continuation  of 
whose  life  and  the  success  of  whose  plans  nvean 
so  much  to  your  coimtry." 

Again  the  radiant,  winning  smile  illumined  his 

face,  and  in  spite  of  himself,  Vanuela  smiled  back. 

You  judged  rightly."  h'.  said,  as  he  grasped 

MacNamara'shand.     "But  your  great  plan  avails 

nothmg  now;  it  is  too  late." 

MacNamara  pounded  on  the  table  with  the 


ENGLAND'S  AGENT 


.  6t 

bottle,  and  the  innkeeper  apoeared  v^^u 
supply  of  wine.  aPPeared  with  a  new 

JNot  so.  my  friend,"  he  r^umed.    "It  is  not 

against  the"^  V^^'^l^  ^^'  ^^  ^  fight 
anything."  ^^^^^  ^^  not  do 

;;Are  you  ready  to  do  anything?" 

.    ^°*  ^^«»t  the  support  of  the  m«,  «,»,    u 
^ven  their  parole     Tt  »^  m  I       ^^  ^^*^  ^^e 
"Then  "  VT^S  ''"^'^  ^  useless." 

thou^     ''tK^H."^^^  -  -^o^enfs 

pamie     Is   tW«  ?T  *^  °^^^  ^°  ^'^  their 

Amaga,  Banc^^'io-.^^^'^^'  '^^^"°'  ^^^' 
"A  little  information  I  would  aslc  "  Kt-^u    • 

w4r^  ''^    ^^-  ^y^-  Cota,  Kco."  he 

^ i'^^^Z'^  ''i*^!"'>''  "■« P'^'^ ««*«1  by 
•     ci\amaras  disjomted  words    thp  r^iv      • 

)^     fd  up  quickly,  the  balrf^  giadnej^f't™'^ 

tte^i'^^^^.^^X.rhe'^'^""'"'"* 
«">  in  a  soft  showe;  Tmi^'  «»  co„.  on  the 


K 


6a    THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

•'S<H)0,"  said  Vanuela. 

^!^t^:  ^V  *"™  ^"""^  *^«  «»«.  and  then 
reached  out  his  hand  to  MacNamara. 

••In  this  I  am  yours  to  command,  completely, 

••Good;  I  knew  I  had  not  mistaken  my  man. 
yes  a  parole  broken  means  death,  according  to 
the  laws  of  war.    But  there  is  no  fear  of  that, 
and  for  this  reason.    Listen,  my  friend."    He 
b«rit  over  the  table  till  his  face  was  close  to  the 
others,  and  spoke  in  a  low  tone.    "There  are 
«x  ships  of  the  British  fleet  now  on  the  coast. 
Five  more,  I  beUeve,  are  on  their  way  around 
t^ape  Horn.    As  soon  as  the  revolt  is  successful 
our  ships  wiU  land  men  at  Monterey  and  Santa 
B^bara.  and  hold  both  towns.    With  aU  stock 
and  horses  Aiven  away  from  the  beach,  and  it 
blockaded  the  American  troops  wiU  be  hemmed 
m  by  land  and  sea.    Their  position  will  be  hope- 
le^  It  IS  not  too  late;  now  is  the  appointed  time." 
There  was  that  in  the  deep  chest  tones  of  the 
man  m  the  steadiness  and  sureness  of  his  gaze 
and  the  earnestness  of  his  demeanor  that  carried 
conviction. 

The  Califomian  raised  his  eyebrows.    "Ah  vou 
are  no  priest."  ^ 

.«'^^^1°°''1^^^*°'^^^"S^«^  easily.  "No, 
an  Enghsh  officer,  bom  and  raised  in  Gib- 
raltar—hence my  command  of  your  beautiful 


ENGLAND'S  AGENT  ^ 

Janguage.    But  to  get  back  ^th  ^ 

^st  must  be  forced  to  C;  i?!h'"?  ^  ^« 
^  be  plagued  into  «>m!^\  .  ^®  Americans 
while  the  t^is  a  s^^,:^  *^^  ^t  rashness  now. 

the  rest  will  be  easy  ^fZ^  "T  °'  ^«>ntent. 
blood  is  spilled  -hoid.  I  TZT'^  ^  •ncl 
much  drinking  next  Pwl  ^^®'«  ^1  be 

jt »  Mexican  ln^^^^-^.;«l'~«'  to-day; 
the  rabble  for  thTpm^  rf  L  T? *  "*  "» 
•t  the  gate  of  the  JSel  IT*  ?"  ^""^ 
*»"«  and  shoot.  If^fr*  ""^'^  t*""  beat 
froUc.  With  plenty  of  no^l^^'^^  "  """^ 

^  &*•  If  they  L^TuZ^'^;'^'  ^'""^^ 
nothinglost.  Ev«^'; '  ^"=  "^  "°t'  there  is 
think  yon?"     ^^"«'^'*«'Plained.    What 

VanueU  smiled  and  nodded     In  i,-    .. 
much  doubted  the  succe^nf;         *"  ""^^^  he 
the  Americans -bu?^  °f  f  J'  "^'t  against 
Antonio  AriUo  fadS'  ^!  ^""^  °f  Don  Jos* 

against  a  stone  w^ h^wl™*  f"""'  "^^  ^'^ 
tantalizing  him  ,^^  '^"  " '*'  Srip.  and  was 
7'k.ith*Ma^:^-*iP^'>^ty^  He  would 

P^  coincided  with  hist^  L  ff  ^^"""^""'^ 
both  desired  to  drive  iZ^:.  '  P"*^*  they 

;ho  had  signed  tl^  ZiTbT!^  *«  "^ 
desire  to  see  the  ravnif  f      **■    ^n*  he  had  no 

would  win  in  4r«d  ZT-  ?*  American, 
^  or  the  buUe?'H^ttt"-,^Arillo,the 
take  care  of  itself.  ""^e^er,    let  the  future 


It 
It    »f. 


: 


64  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

"There  is  a  crowd  of  wild  young  fooU  in  the 
dty  who,  I  am  told,"  he  said,  "play  at  revolution, 
and  call  one  of  their  number  'governor'  and 
another  'commandant.'  With  plenty  of  wine, 
yes,  it  can  be  done." 

MacNamara  drew  from  his  podcet  a  handful 
of  gold.  "Take  this  to  wet  the  throats  of  your 
gay  young  friends,  and  deepen  their  ardor." 

Vanuela,  ever  avaricious,  gathered  it  up;  it 
was  a  hundredfold  what  he  had  lost  at  cards. 

Laying  his  hand  on  Hugo's  shoulder,  the  other 
said  seriously: 

"You  are  to  do  a  great  work  for  California 
to-day,  mi  amigo,  and  when  the  British  flag  floats 
over  this  dty  you  will  not  be  forgotten.  Long 
after  you  and  I  have  crumbled  into  dust  the 
story  of  to-night's  doings  shall  be  a  tale  that  shall 
be  told  to  little  children  in  the  days  to  come." 

Vanuela,  as  he  noted  the  flash  of  the  other's 
eyes  and  the  ring  of  enthusiasm  in  his  voice, 
looked  his  uncomprehending  wonder,  but  he 
shrewdly  resisted  the  desire  to  shrug  his  shoulders, 
and  answered  gravely: 
"I  believe  it,  sefior." 

With  his  hand  on  the  door,  he  turned  to  the 
Englishman.  "But  stiU,  I  do  not  understand. 
Suppose  that  you  had  been  mistaken,  and 
that  after  I  had  heard  your  plan  I  had  not 
agreed?" 


I.;    1 

II 


ENGLAND'S  AGENT 


enough.  -  ^^  wine—  t  is  coxnmon 

f«^ro/t^:S,e''Z„'''""^»  »'  -  ♦■■'  *ade4 

caiti^'sto?^  "°''*'''^^  ''"°  °'"»'»  °ffi«  the 
w(  lain  stopped  massagine  his  lin  f«^  « 

««<i  looked  up  in  surpris^.^  ^     '  *  '"°'"*«*' 

cZr'  '  '"'"  ^°"°'  °^  ^^^^^^«  Seiior  Captain 
"Yes;  what  is  it?" 

aIo^'He'Z'°!f  '^*  ^P*^  «  for  his  ears 
"r.     ^*  "?*«"«>  toward  the  door. 

.o^d  the  newcomer.    -WhalTyo^'nl^^f 
^««o  VanueU.  serior.  f„„  the'^CnL 

loiow,    to    whom    the    coming  of  the 


66    THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

Americans  was  welcome —very  welcome.    They 
wiU  always  have  my  support  and  sympathy  in 
aU   things."    He  paused  to  note  the  eflfect  of 
his  words,  but  the  officer's  face  was  inscrutable. 
"Good;  I  am  glad  to  hear  it.    Proceed." 
"I  would  warn  the  captain  to  be  careful.    There 
is  much  discontent  in  the  pueblo.    The  people 
are  restless  and  dissatisfied.    They  do  not  like 
the  regulations   that   the   Sefior   Captain   has 
estabUshed." 

"Yes,  I  have  suspected  as  much.  Oh,  they 
wiU  get  used  to  them  in  time.  Do  you  know  of 
anything  definite.?" 

Vanuela  hesitated.  "Ah,  the  sefior,  like  aU 
Amencans,  goes  straight  to  the  point— a  wonderful 
people.  Yes— so  quick  they  do  everything. 
Nothmg  have  I  heard  but  rumors,  it  being  difficult 
for  me  to  find  the  truth,  because  my  friendship  for 
the  captain's  countrymen  is  weU  known.  But 
this  much  is  certain,  sefior,  that  there  are  meetings 
bemg  held,  secretly,  and  often." 

Gillie 's  hand  left  his  lip ;  he  was  aU  attention  now. 
Where,  and  who  attend  them?"  he  asked,  as 
he  took  up  his  pea  and  drew  a  sheet  of  p^per 
toward  him. 

"That  I  cannot  say  positively,  sefior,  but  I 
fear  that  it  is  at  the  home  of  Don  Jos6  Antonio 
Anllo.  Of  that  I  cannot  be  reaUy  sure,  and  can 
offer  no  proof,  except  that  it  is  plain,  in  case  of 


li 


ENGLAND'S  AGENT 


67 

fighting,  he  is  the  one  man  f  *,«„  ^ 

lead  them  "  ^^^  ^^""^  "Pon  to 

<Jo  nothing  at  present  If  ,  .7^  ^  ''°"'<* 
to  proceed' agaC^.  '^^^f  J^  «  -^ 
of  the  sefior  to  Dr«w^  t-^,-    *^^  Permission 

^^o^ation  that  „„.y  be  ^/L^^Jl^ 
He  blew  a  long  white  streak  of  smofc  -u  u 
^ea^for^nae  to  Obtain  info^a^::!:^^'^ 

;;You  wish  to  act  as  a  spy  for  us?" 

nipiicated  I  shall  be  protected  from  evil  restiltV 
Have  I  permission  to  so  act?  Is  it ^^nf?^  J 
between  us?"  "  i-nderstood 

we"?J'  ^  S^.idea.  Seflor  Vanuela.  and  I  wish 
we  had  more  friends  like  von     mJ      ^    , 
and  you  mav  be  s«~T^  /         We  need  them, 
appr^iatS/'  ^  '^'  ^^^  ^^^^^^  i«  duly 


I 


.  .-•BUrWW.'iT" -■  "H -T'T-iiT 


68    THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 
Vaouela  simled  in  his  slow,  eas^  way. 

«rh^'  '^*  ^^  ^P^  ^  J^<i.  but 
perhaps  he  overrates  my  abilities.    It  is  possible 

to  the  s^or  very  often.  Perhaps  I  shall  find  or 
hear  noting,  and  if  so  it  will  be  weU  indeed- 
^I^do,  the  captain  shaU  know  of  it,  nK>st 

Hardly  had  Vanuela  stepped  out  into  the  dark- 
ne^  when  Jun  MarshaU  stroUed  in  leisurely. 
The  frontiersman's  wrinkled  eyes,  looking  at 
Gilhe  from  under  his  broad-brimmed  hTWere 
keen  and  eager. 

"Say,  captain, — 

recoUect  them  military  ways;  but  no  offense - 
^^g  to  oblige.  Now  them  thar  old  guS  of 
Castro  s  hvm'  out  thar  in  the  stockade-they 're 
m  pretty  fair  shape,  cept  for  the  spikin',  and  I 
km  take  that  out  with  add.  Kin  ye  get  »v 
acid,  captain.?"  ^    '     "^ 

you  know  my  decision  later.     Meanwhile,  there 
are  more  miportant  things  to  attend  to  ^ 

dZ^^r  ,'°?lf  """^  "^  »"«  guardhouse 
You  will  repair  them  at  once,  you  understand  •' 


ENGLAND'S  AGENT 


69 

"All  right,  captain." 

-^T^r^,««'  «f^'^  thoughts 

favorably  impS^  tte  'ZfZ'^r'^^ 

m  his  clumsy  MBricaTwav  to  "?!?"  *^''«' 
him  in  order  to  morTe^v  o^f ^7  ^*'"""  "^^ 
in  the  form  of  pei4"  ^«n  "  '"""  **^ 
they  were  a  iZZ^'        .  '  °"^  '=°^'*  "o*  *<=": 

-ubie  h^f  ■4:^rwo^«t:  i^ii  :o'i::r 

spy  among  the  enemy.    As  for  Arate  th  * 

nothing  to  be  done  at  pr«^t     4^°'  '""^  "«* 
of  the  wine  room,  »„/Ir^       ^*  "*"  ™"ors 

wr  \juiie.  With  all  his  npntlia^^.;^ 

a  just  man.  according  to  hif  igC^r;.""^ 
however,  he  must  dn  —  ul         .  .  "  """g, 

that  Vanuela  wt  nt  pttSy^^t  ^ 

destroy  t^ml^t^I^f  ""  '^«''*  '»-"3' 
He  did  not  know  that  the  keen  eyes  of  John 


/ 


§ 


70    THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

CarroU  had  noted  the  Califomian  leaving  the 
office     To  make  sure  that  he  had  made  no 

sT^';.       "^"^  T  '^^  «^^  ^^^  «-^>^  the 
s^t.  thus  commg  face  to  face  with  Vanuela. 

S^leTnXV'^^'^f  ^^"^^^S^y-  Neither 
^ke  but  both  must  have  felt  rn  instinctive  hos- 
tihty  for  m  theu-  souls  at  that  moment  was  born 
a  dishke  so  bitter  that  death  alone  could  eradi- 
cace  it. 


CHAPTER  VI 

MARSHALL'S  WARNING 

T^'^-^':^  ,'-^    booted  and   spo^ 
and  equipped  for  weeks  on  the  hiUs^ 

awaiting  the  word  of  command  to  marrh     -ru 
were    Benito    Willard's^moa^v^f '    T?'^ 
oi^anized  some  weeks  bef^rafrh.        ""^''^' 
of  Stockton.  ^  ^®  suggestion 

fla  JT  tK"^"*'^,  '^^  commodore  had  hoisted  his 

the  coast  everv  v*»qt.    k„-*.    •       /^=****=«  visited 

tallow     ChZL  r^Vu^^^  ^°"  ^'^««  and 
^ow.    Charmed  by  the  mdolent.  care-free  life 

th.^T'Jv  *^'^  ^«^cans  none  stood  higher  with 
the   Califomians   than   Ben    Willard    ^  "7^ 
Ben^to-'astheycalledhim.     His  s^ing In^^ 

71 


i'l 


72    THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

his  strength  of  character,   and  his    kindliness 
had  so  won  their  hearts  that,  though  he  was  not 
a  Mexican  citizen,   they  had  insisted  on  his 
serving  as  alcalde  of  the  eastern  district  where 
his  rancho,  the  Hurupa,  was  located.    He  owned 
one  of  the  few  stores  in  the  pueblo,  and  had 
taken  to  wife  a  daughter  of  one  of  the  foremost 
Califomian  families.    It  was  with  great  reluctance 
that  WiUard  had  accepted  Stockton's  commission 
as  captain  of  the  mihtia  company.    His  warm 
feeling  for  the  people  among  whom  he  had  found 
a  home  made  him  averse  to  serving  in  a  military 
capacity,  even  though  there  seemed  Uttle  prob- 
ability of  further  hostilities. 

In  spite  of  lack  of  inches  there  was  about 
Ben  Willard,  as  with  WiU  Harbin  his  Ueutenant 
he  stood  on  the  veranda  listening  to  Captain 
Gillie's  final  instructions,  an  air  of  reserved  force 
that  unconsciously  ir.spired  confidence  and  re- 
spect. His  deep  ha. /I  eyes  were  quietly  quizzi- 
cal, but  there  wa-  kctuness  and  decision  in  his 
thin  lips  and  closely  set  mouth. 

"I  have  reliable  information  that  Commandant 
Castro  is  in  Cucumonga  Cafion,  and  that  he  is 
secretly  recruiting  a  large  body  of  men.  Bring 
him  in,  dead  or  alive,"  Gillie  was  saying. 

Hugo  Vanuela,  seated  idly  on  a  neighboring 
veranda,— one  would  fancy  half  asleep,— with 
a  satisfied  smile  watched  the  cavalcade  as  it 


MARSHALL'S  WARNING 


n 

"deaway.  It  was  he  who  had  carried  to  the 
A^encan  commander  the  imaginanr  rumor  rf 
the  commandant's  whereabouts.  TOe  idTU 
origmated  with  MacNamara.  who.  tao^  ™ 

^-astro.  had  concocted  the  story 

It  mh^*!"'"'^  *^'>'  as  the  two  had  hoped. 
It  robbed  the  city  of  its  best  defense    fortte 

dt  ^1'^""  '"PP'^'^  "  evolution  in  ;^ 
«^  These  men  knew  the  Califomian  spirit- 
^^^  uifluential  in  council,  and  whfleXy 

As  the  handful  swung  out  into  the  open  road 
at  a  qmck  canter,  not  one  among  them  dreai^d 
that  th«-e  would  be  trouble  during  their  ab^^ 
They  id  not  know  that  a  British  icret  a^^Z 

^D  ^c2ir  ""^  ^"^  "'''"  *«  f""^  owner: 
smp  of  Cahfomia  hung  trembling  in  the  balance 
among  a  trio  of  American,  BAish,  a^d  iS^^ 
-«nva^  nations.  Ex«pt  for  Lieu;eZt  ^Z 
^U,  there  was  not  a  man  left  in  the  cit^ 

ex^te.  "^^^'^  ""■'J  »^Pi«  and  Vanuela 

The  breach  between  Carroll  and  GiUie  had 
widened  recently.  Car^U  had  not  been  tato 
"•to  Grlhe's  confidence  in  regard  to  Vanud^ 


J; 


74  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

frequent  visits,  and  the  lieutenant  was  piqued 
because  this  evidence  of  trust  was  withheld  from 
a  subordinate  whose  experience  and  knowledge 
of  the  people  were  valuable. 

Indeed  Gillie  had  for  a  time  contemplated 
sending  CarroU  with  miurd's  company,  and 
the  heart  of  the  soldier  almost  stood  stiU  with 
the  first  fear  he  had  ever  known. 

Some  trivial  incident  had  diverted  Gillie  from 
his  purpose,  and  the  Ueutenant  heaved  a  sigh 
of  relief  as  a  cloud  of  dust,  mounting  to  the 
evemng  sky,  announced  that  the  company  had 
passed  beyond  all  danger  of  being  overtaken 
ev«i  should  the  captain  change  his  mind. 

For  Jack  Carroll  had  made  up  his  mind  that 
to-mght  was  the  night  of  all  nights  in  his  Ufa. 
lo-mght  he  was  to  call  at  the  house  of  Arillo 
and  ask  the  Don  for  the  hand  of  his  daughter 
A  more  cautious  man  would  have  sought  out 
some   fnend.    say   Don  Augustin   Alvaro,    told 
of   his    purpose,    and    asked    his    cooperation- 
roundabout  negotiations  would   have  foUowed' 
with   probably   the   same   result.    But    Carroll 
was  an  American.    He  felt  that  the  way  had 
been  suffiaently  paved  by  the  former  meeting- 
Loreto  s  clinging  arm  and  her  worshiping  eyes  had 
told  hun  her  answer  to  his  yet  unspoken  question. 
He  was  willing,  even  anxious,  to  give  the  parents 
all  due  deference,  but  suspense  was  maddening 


-m^w 


'^^m'-^"^":": 


MARSHALL'S  WARNING 


hour.  ^  ^  happmess  for  a  single 

for  his  welfare    ^7  •  '^  *  '''*P  "»>«*ni 

his  heart.  ^"•"tude  that  went  straight  to 

ware  n't  anr^^tSf  f  «"'  ""'W-    There 

>i'e     Perhai  rrd^e"Jt^\Tr  '"^  "^ 
whare  they  wuz     Thiciv    i.       "^  ^  <J  »  stayed 

could  n't  enjoy  myJ'Z^' ^^"^l' 
I  d  just  be  miserable  back  in  ti^^T^  "^■ 
on  sidewalks  and  L„^      ,'''*  F***^' calkin' 

store  Clothes.    Mo^hat^'  ^"^  '""  "^' 
He  shuddered  at  the  idea. 

r™^!r^    stammered    awkwardly       "Wa  »l. 
I  ve  been  a  pretty  good  trader.  Jol^>.  he  SiS 


76  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

evasively,  "and  I  could  gather  up  a  bit,  I  suppose. 
Perhaps  when  I  got  back  to  the  Stotes,  what  I  've 
put  away  would  n't  look  much.  I  want  to  tell 
you  somethin',  son." 

"Well?"  said  Carroll,  somewhat  amazed. 

"Don't  postpone  any  weddin'  for  lack  of  chink. 
Go  'long,  now." 

Carroll  turned  away,  marveling  at  the  remark. 
He  knew  questions  were  useless.  Marshall's 
final  word  was  always,  "Go  'long."  When 
the  frontiersman  uttered  those  words,  it  was 
A  sign  that  the  conversation  had  ended. 

Marshall  walked  over  and  inspected  the 
stockade  gate. 

"Ain't  much  to  them  gates.  A  ten-year-old 
boy  with  a  good  copper-toed  boot  could  kick  a 
hole  through  this  one.  And  that  bar  is  shaky, 
too." 

Brooks,  a  typical  marine,  nodded  and  grinned. 
Concerned  only  in  obe)dng  orders  as  they  came 
to  him,  day  by  day,  Marshall's  inquisitive  ini- 
tiative and  restless  speculation  were  to  him  a 
never-ending  source  of  amusement. 

"Ain't  worrying  me  none  It's  the  captain's 
business,"  he  remarked. 

Marshall  strode  over  to  the  veranda  where 
Gillie  stood,  and  saluted  awkwardly. 

"Say,  captain,  about  that  acid—" 

"I  have  decided  not  to  bother  with  the  guns. 


MARSHALL'S  WARNING 


M«^;  thejr  a«  not  worth  it.  And  by  th. 
w^.  ^»  your  repair  work  o„  tiJZ^ 
om^    It  „„  even  wor«  condition  Uum 

J^''  '^  "^«^-  -<»  "•  J-itated  . 

T^^t^"  ^^  ^  TJT'^  for  a  moment?" 
th«^wJ^^  ""^   "*»   the  office,   and 

an  of  rL    .         ^™-    ^°"  ""^  you  have 
^eht  I^    1,*^  °"*  **«•  but  only  lait 

^eshop  talfan-  of  a  cannon-a  brass  camion- 

iney  saw  me  Iistenia'.   and  quit  talldn'-  but 
^Zy^  "^  X  HaO  got  tSat  .^;,t 
TThe  captain  smUed  sarcasticafly. 

lood  LS^  "*°i"  ''*  "^  Patn>n«ingly.  "your 
good  intCTtions  do  you  infinite  credit,  but  I 
fetr  you  have  'cam.on-  on  the  brain.  I  W 
P0«t,vely  we  have  aU  the  gun.  Cast™  eLZ^ 
">d  besides,  you  ought  to  know  enough  aCt 
these  people  to  know  they  have  no  reaUntS. 
<rfres«tan«.    They  like  to  fuss  and  ST^ 

that  B  aU  they  will  ever  do." 


If  "J 

^4 


MiaoCOfY   RiSOlUTKM   TBT  CHART 

(ANSI  and  ISO  TEST  CHART  No.  2) 


^  APPLIED  IM^GE 

^^  t6S3  East  Main  Street 

^^  Rochester,   Ne»  York        U609       USA 

^S  (716)  482 -OJOO- Phone 

^S  ("6)   288  -  5989  -  Fox 


78    THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 


"Ya-a-s,  I  know,"  Marshall  admitted  reluc- 
tantly. "They're  great  on  plottin*  and  yellin', 
and  not  much  on  fightin',  but  I  don't  trust 
them  none.  Now  about  that  acid  for  them 
guns.     It  would  n't  take  more  than  — " 

"Marshall,"  the  oflEicer  snapped  with  an  air 
of  irritation,  "I  don't  want  you  to  mention 
either  acid  or  guns  to  me  again.  You  may  go 
now." 

"About  them  gates,  captain;  they  ain't  none 
too  strong.    Them  bars,  too,  is  mighty  shaky." 

'  *  Never  mind  the  gates.  Pix  the  other  veranda 
as  ordered.  Your  business  is  to  obey  orders, 
not  to  make  suggestions.  You  may  go,"  he 
repeated. 

Marshall  griimed  philosophically,  and  as  the 
captain  a  half -hour  later  passed  out  the  gate  he 
noted  him  at  work,  whistling  cheerfully  at  his 
appointed  task.  But  directly  he  had  passed, 
Marshall  seated  himself  lazily  on  the  steps, 
and,  producing  from  his  pocket  a  long  roll  of 
brown  tobacco,  drew  from  his  sheath  a  huge 
himting  knife,  and  proceeded  to  cut  off  a  piece. 

"Wa-a-al,  thar's  what  I  call  a  mighty  cock- 
sure little  bit  of  a  man.  Sooner  or  later  that 
fellah  will  get  a  jolt  that  will  rattle  his  spine," 
he  said  to  Brooks,  who  was  pacing  up  and  down 
behind  him. 

"Now    he    don't    care    for    suggestions,    and 


MARSHALL'S  WARNING  79 

I'd  think  that  any  darned  fool  would  take  a 
suggestion  if  it  was  a  good  one,  even  if  it  came 
from  Old  Nick  himself." 

Brooks  chuckled.  "You  had  better  not  let 
the  captain  hear  you  calling  him  a  darned  fool. 
You  might  find  yourself  in  the  guardhouse  again." 
"I  ain't  done  it—not  me.  But  say,  you 
mihtary  man,  could  they  put  any  one  in  the 
guar(Uiouse  for  just  thinkin'  the  captain  is  a 

"No,  I  think  not — of  course  not." 
Marshall  took  off  his  hat  and  scratched  his 
head  thoughtfully.  "Wa-a-al,"  he  said  with 
an  air  of  compromise,  "we  'U  just  let  it  go  at  that." 
He  looked  cautiously  around— at  the  pacing 
marine,  at  the  veranda  across  the  stockade,  at 
the  gate  where  GiUie  had  disappeared.  Then 
with  a  broad  grin  of  reckless  determination 
he  gathered  up  his  tools,  walked  over  to  the 
gate,  and  began  work  on  it. 

"Orders  is  orders,  all  right,  aU  right,"  he 
soUloquized,  "but  greasers  is  greasers,  and  gates 
IS  gates— except  this  one,  which  ain't  no  gate 
at  aU."  ^ 

He  took  off  his  coat  and  threw  it  on  the  ledge 
at  the  foot  of  the  waU,  then,  after  a  moment's 
fumbling,  removed  from  the  pocket  some  papers, 
and  lastly  a  leathern  pouch.  Its  weight  made 
him  smile. 


n 


:j, 


if 


ia^MUMi  ai-W 


8o  THE  DONS  OF  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

"JehosophatI  What  a  haul  that  'ud  be  for 
a  greaser!"  He  smiled  as  he  slipped  it  into  his 
trousers  pocket.  "I'll  have  to  bank  this  with 
the  rest,  to-night." 

He  looked  at  a  beetle  crawling  on  the  sand 
at  his  feet. 

"The  people  of  this  community,  and  you, 
Mister  Bug,  got  jest  about  the  same  amount  of 
hoss  sense,"  he  mused.  "The  captain  don't  know 
that  the  women  have  a  cannon  buried  sumwhar; 
the  lootenant  don't  know  that  the  Arillo  gal  is 
his  fer  the  askin';  the  greasers  don't  know  that 
Vanuela  is  tryin'  to  whipsaw  them;  an'  none  of 
them  know  that  the  wealth  the  big  world  is 
strivin'  and  dyin*  for,  lies  here  in  this  country 
in  the  dirt  under  their  very  feet." 


CHAPTER  VII 

A  soldier's  wooing 

Q^PULLY  do  the  men  of  Spanish  stock 

l.n  r^t    r  ''"°"'"''  ^  ^^^  "^^^  ^  southern 
lanc...    The  large  measure  of  individual  freedom 
and   personal   responsibiUty  which   the  Anglo- 
SMon  accords  to  his  sisters  and  daughters  is 
utterly  unknown  in  the  lands  where  the  sonorous 
Cas^han  IS  spoken.    Prom  her  earUest  childhood 
to  the  day  she  goes  to  the  arms  of  her  husband 
the  Spamsh  gu-1  is  reared  in  the  thought  that 
she  IS  not  considered  fuUy  capable  of  guarding 
h^lf   but  that  her  virtue,  her  reputation,  as 
weU  as  her  ultmmte  fate,  are  in  the  ever-watchful 
care  of  relatives. 

even  m  pubhc  places,  would  be  intolerable  and 
unwomanly  boldness.  It  would  be  inexcusable 
Ignorance  of  the  proprieties  on  the  part  of  the 
relatives  who  permitted  it.  Perhaps  something 
ofthespuitofth  'oor.  with  his  carefully  guarded 
r?^'  f^P^^^PS  the  passionate  ardor  of  a 
hot-blooded  «mthem  race,  is  responsible  for  the 
institutions  of  the  iron-barred  door  and  window 
and  the  ever-watchful  duenna,  a  personage  of 

8i 


I    <' 


mW    )' 


82  THE  DONS  OF  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

But  love  laughs  at  barred  windows  and  duennas, 
as  it  is  said  to  laugh  at  locksmiths.    On  the 
street,  at  church,  even  while  under  the  care  of 
aunt  or  mother,  the  meeting  eyes  of  man  and 
maid  tell  the  story  that  n..      not  be  told  by 
the  tongue— a  long,  devouring  gaze,  that  only  the 
Spanish  woman  knows  how  to  send,  carries  the 
message  her  lips  may  not  utter.    And  so  it  is 
but  little  of  a  surprise  to  her  when,  glancing 
from  her  window,  she  sees,  standing  hour  after 
hour  perhaps,  the  man  to  whom  she  has  aheady 
paid  the  tribute  of  her  eyes.    To  this  day  in 
Spanish-speaking  countries  the  spectacle  of  a 
man  standing  silent,  staring  up  at  a  window,  is 
too  common  to  attract  more  than  passing  atten- 
tion.   Nor  is  it  treated  by  the  passers-by  with 
the  heartless  raillery  of  the  Anglo-Saxon,   but 
with  the  courteous  consideration  that  is  char- 
acteristic of  the  race.    If  it  be  night,  he  sings  to 
attract  her  attention,  and  she  steals  to  the  iron 
bars,  and  there,  with  the  metal  griU  between 
their  throbbing  hearts,  they  teU  to  one  another 
the  glad  sweet  things  that  have  flowed  from 
the  lips  of  lovers  since  ever  love  began. 

Not  hastily,  for  that  would  betoken  the  lack 
of  a  proper  sense  of  their  own  v/orth  and  dignity, 
do  the  parents  deign  to  take  official  notice  of  the 
courtship.  When  at  last  the  anxious  lover  is 
invited  by  father  and  mother  to  enter  the  house 


A  SOLDIER'S  WOOING 


consent.    But  the  approval  of  the  parents  does 
not  n,ean  any  relaxation  of  the  caref^  ^^^ 
ship  by  moti^er  or  aunt.    There  are  fe^iH 
tetes   or  opportunities  for  fond   cLe^    tt" 

«s  before,  the  dark  eyes  soeak^f»,  '      ^' 

♦*«,j  ,    '*«"*.  eyes  speaic  with  a  passionaf:^ 

Of  much  of  this  John  CarroU  was  aware 
Awa«  too  was  he  of  the  prideful  regaTin  wS 

«r  rf^rnSfx^r  '°^-^"  ^^^ 

H;utena„tha^,S-^-,«"^^-2«>e 

a  sil^TthTn  f"^'-  ^^  ^  ^andneph:w"f 
5'Sner  of  the  Declaration  of  Indeoendenci.   l,i= 

famJy  that  proudly  tmced  its  linl^  ^  '  * 

associate  of  Lord  Baltimore     Ont^  T 

>ia/i  ««.  ^         t  •"fAiiiure.     un  tins  score  he 

I^  no  apprehens,on:  that  he  had  been  ini^t^ 
to  the  house  gave  him  courage  and  hope. 

jJL,^  ^^"^   *''*  ^'°  home,    Don    Tos6 
My  house  is  yours,  my  house  is  yours."  he 


I. 


.;;'M  : 

n 

Jf^^^H 

i^ 

84    THE  DONS  OF  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

repeated  wiui  a  sincerity  that  almost  made 
the  timewom  expression  of  hospitality  for  once 
believable. 

The  dispatch  of  the  soldiers  urged  Carroll  to 
immediate  action,  and  his  preliminary  words 
were  indeed  very  incidental.  He  had  come  to 
win  a  bride.    Why  delay? 

"Yours  is  a  beautiful  country,  sefior,"  he 
declared,  trying  to  imitate  the  prefacing  remarks 
with  which  the  Mexican  always  heralds  some 
important  topic.  "I  have  seen  the  blue  bays 
of  Italy,  and  the  orange  groves  of  Andalusia, 
but  they  cannot  compare  with  your  California. 
I  have  decided  to  remain,  and  when  the  war 
on  the  Rio  Grande  is  over  I  shall  purchase  a 
rancho  and  make  my  home  here." 

"Glad  indeed  am  I  to  hear  it,"  replied  the 
Don,  in  a  tone  so  deliberate  that  he  betrayed  his 
anticipation  of  the  declaration  that  was  to  follow. 
His  hand  halted  midway  in  stroking  his  beard, 
and  he  looked  seriously  into  Carroll's  eyes,  as 
though  he  would  search  and  see  if  his  soul  and 
heart  and  mind  were  true. 

"Don  Jos6  Antonio,"  said  Carroll,  rising  to 
his  feet  to  give  added  impressiveness  to  his 
words,  "I  am  a  soldier  and  a  gentleman,  the  son 
of  a  soldier  and  a  gentleman.  I  come  not  to 
boast  of  myself,  but  to  tell  you  first  that  my 
hands  are  clean  and  my  conscience  clear,  and  that 


A  SOLDIER'S  WOOING 


mTw^/rT^^^  '"y  grandfather  before 
n^  ®^''  country  " 

Don  Jos6  Antonio  nodded  gravely. 
CarroU  knew  well  AriUo's  standards    and  hi^ 

briefly  and  modestly  as  he  could. 
^And  now  I  have  the  honor  to  ask  vou  to 
P^it  me  to  pay  my  addresses  to  your  daughter 
that  I  may  ask  her  hand  in  mairiage."  ' 

^^Cool  and  unflinching,  he  looked  into  Arillo's 

J^V'^Pripeless  jewel  you  ask  for."  he  resumed 
»n  his  poetic  fashion.  "And  yet -17^,^ 
come  to  ii<: *!,«  *•  t.  ^    '     "    ?*^ust 

To  the  mother  CairoU's  style  changed  in  r 
^«™klmg,  and  in  almost  caiesdng  Z^e  to  Id 
of  his  ove  for  her  daughter.    As  he  tSced  ttZ 

"Oman's  eyes  filled  with  tearTaSd  ^1«Se 
protest  was  virtuaUy  a  consent.  ShfwS  a 
woman  who  loved  a  chivalrous  lover. 

she  iz  SLS;;.""  "™^  *"  ^°-  °-  «>-fy  ?•• 

"Ah,  no,  sefiora:  your  land  and  your  daughter 


86  THE  DONS  OF  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 


won  my  heart  in  the  same  hour.  I  had  just 
told  Don  Jos6  Antonio  that  I  propose  to  make 
California  my  home  when  the  war  is  ended." 

The  seAora  was  thinking  fast.    She  blushed. 

"The  children— they  ^411  be  Catholics?" 

"Assuredly;  I  was  bom  in  the  faith." 

Don  Jos6  Antonio  looked  at  hei  triumph- 
antly. 

"The  saints  be  praised,"  she  said  devoutly, 
"else  this  love  of  yours  had  be  n  a  calamity." 
She  was  silent  for  a  space,  her  arms  folded,  her 
foot  tapping  incessantly  on  the  rug.  As  she 
gazed  out  the  window  into  the  moonlit  garden, 
her  ^'yes  again  sought  the  shadowy  clump  of 
rosebushes  in  the  far  comer.  There  was  a 
crafty  look  in  her  full-orbed  glance  as  she  again 
met  Carroll's  gaze. 

"But  if,  when  the  war  in  Mexico  is  over, —  if 
your  army  is  driven  back  into  Texas, —  if  yotir 
Hag  goes  down  and  Calitomia  still  remains  a 
part  of  Mexico  and  you  are  called  away — seiior, 
I  fear  it  would  then  be  impossible." 

Carroll  smiled  at  the  supposition. 

"Nothing  can  come  between  us."  He  spoke 
firmly,  and  the  mother's  eyes  brightened  with 
admiration  at  the  declaration  of  constancy. 
"Army  regulations  would  permit  me  to  withdraw 
from  the  service  and,  as  I  said  before,  this  land 
shall  be  my  home." 


HI 


A  SOLDIER'S  V700ING  87 

The   mother's  eyes   softened,   and   her   tone 
betrayed  her  final  capituJation. 
"Loreto."  she  called. 

Jx)reto  AriUo  entered  slowly.  Not  the  pouting, 
dimpled,  laughing,  care-free  girl  of  the  casement- 
not  the  bewitching,  elfin  creature  who  had  clung 
to  him  far  beyond  the  necessity  of  fear,  a  few 
nights  ago,  but  a  woman,  magnificent,  queenly, 
and  senous  with  all  the  dignity  of  her  race. 

To-night  she  showed  Lieutenant  Carroll  that 
the  daughter  of  the  AriUos  did  not  depend  on 
smiles  or  glances  for  her  beauty.  To-night  she 
gave  him  proof  that  she  was  qualified  by  every 
gace  to  be  the  wife  of  an  American  officer. 
Hers  were  more  theji  girlish  fascinations.  Her 
beauty  was  lustrous,  almost  Egyptian.  There 
was  not  the  suspicion  of  a  smile  on  her  lips  as 
she  advanced  with  the  grace  of  a  queen,  and 
extended  her  hand  that  he  might  kiss  it. 

Marveling,  he  crazed  at  the  woman  who  was  to 
be  his  wife;  enraptured  by  tlie  metamon?hosis 
he  raised  her  hand  to  his  lips  with  almost  religioas 
reverence.    One   moment    she   looked,   into   his 
eyes,  long  and  wistfully. 

"Had  you  not  come,"  she  whispered,  "my 
heart  would  have  broken." 

Her  words,  the  touch  of  her  hf  ids,  the  look 
in  her  velvety  eyes,  again  sent  the  wild  gaUopers 
loose    in    the    veins    of   John    CarroU.    Hardly 


/' 


i  »•. 


SB    THE  DONS  OF  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

could  he  restrain  himself  from  gathering  her  in 
his  anns  and  raining  kisses  on  her  upturned 
face.  But  the  cahn  eyes  of  the  sefiora  were 
upon  them;  the  unwritten  law  of  the  land  and 
the  people  forbade.  His  charmed  brain  was 
telling  him  one  overweening  fact.  In  any  land, 
in  any  company,  among  any  rank  or  fashion  or 
condition  of  society,  here-  was  a  woman  of  whom 
he  would  ever  be  proud.  No  child-wife  would 
slie  be;  no  capricious  miss  to  be  humored,  caressed, 
or  scolded.  No,  to-night  she  was  the  woman 
glorious,  dignifying  his  suit  with  a  seriousness 
merited  by  a  love  like  his. 

As  they  chatted  together  with  the  strange, 
newborn  familiarity  of  love,  all  her  hauteur 
vanished,  and  she  was  once  again  the  witching 
maiden  of  his  first  impression.  Her  eyes  wide 
with  wondering  worshipfulness,  she  listened  to 
his  tales  of  a  soldier's  Uh  by  land  and  sea.  In 
silent  enthrallment  he  watched  her  baby-like 
fingers  flashing  across  the  harp  strings  as  she 
sang  to  him,— old  melodies  first  sung  by  some 
forgotten  troubadour  in  the  dim  centuries  of 
the  past  among  the  far-off  hills  of  Aragon. 

As  Don  Jos6  Antonio  looked  upon  them,  he 
sighed  softly.  Yet  as  his  slow  glance  dwelt 
approvingly  upon  the  virile  lines  of  the  soldier's 
well-knit  frame,  at  his  hendsome  face  all  aglow 
with  new-foxmd  happmess,  he  smiled  with  satisfied 


A  SOLDIER'S  WOOING 


89 

pride.    Such  a  son   would  S*  ««  ^• 
tllc  house  of  AriUo.  "°  ^''''^^  *^ 

^lore  mat  such  a  woman  existed.    Intoxicated 

^LLltT  ^'f '^"«  ^'"-^  that Tet:^ 
awake  marvehng  at  the  suddenness  and  co    nZV 
ness  of  her  capitulation,  he  feltT^„*       ^ 
sorrow  for  IdnM    r  °  '  f"- ^^^^  *  «*"temptuous 

gods,  for  all^f ;o'rid.'H::'  ^Jt  '^T' 

electrified  witht,,^'^   "°""^^^'    '^^   ^<^ 
„.^%"^"^°^t   walked   homeward   with    ^h^ 

jocular  waging.  "Beware  the  Btadc  L^^"^: 

shite  Z'r  i?."  *?  "^  ""PP"^   H^^-^^d 
Shake  hands  with  the  devU  himself  to-nijht 
Hunmn  or  supernatural  were  aU  alike  tt  ll 

?^    ,f ''.'"*  "^™'**^-    H*  started  to  whis^- 
Oh.  the  heart  that  has  truly  loved."    ra« 


90    THE  DONS  OF  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

he  stopped.  It  seemed  that  a  form  was  rising 
out  of  the  ground,  in  a  shadowy  comer  not  twenty 
feet  away.  He  heard  the  clicking  of  coin  and 
scraping  of  earth,  as  though  something  was 
bemg  buried  when  his  whistle  interrupted  opera- 
tions. He  stopped  and  gazed;  the  figure  rose 
to  full  stattire. 

"Who  goes  there?"  he  demanded. 

"A  friend— let  me  pass,"  said  a  voice,  evidently 
disguised. 

CarroU  blocked  the  way;  the  voice  was  not 
a  strange  one.  A  menacing  arm  was  raised 
as  though  to  frighten  the  lieutenant;  a  cloak  was 
drawn  across  the  face  as  Loreto  had  described 
the  specter. 

"Halt,  or  I  shoot,"  commanded  Carroll,  who 
though  onarmed  had  the  soldier's  instinct. 

"Thedevilyou  will,"repliedthefigure,  dropping 
the  cloak,  and  Jim  Marshall  stood  before  him. 
"Congratulations,  lieutenant,"  he  chuckled. 
In  puzzled  amazement  the  officer  stared  at  the 
frontiersman's  black  raiment,  at  the  short  cloak 
hanging  from  his  arm,  at  the  round  knobbed  hat 
of  the  bull  fighter. 

"Jim,"  he  pretested,  "what  can  you  possibly 
mean  by  such  foolishness?  It  is  dangerous. 
The  provost  guard  may  fire  on  you." 

"Oh,  I  guess  not,"  drawled  MarshaU,  as  he 
walked  away. 


A  SOLDIER'S  WOOING  „ 

.   "Good    night,    Ueutenant."   he   caUed    back 
JfcuWI^       "What    people    dc«'t    unTersiS 
should  nt  ever  bother  them  none.    Astillton^ 
1^,   makes   no   trouble   between   friends.^ 
iong,  now. 

m  the  direction  m  which  MarshaU  had  disappeared 
I'dei^rrg"^"   ^^   ^   --'^  --^ond 
Then  as  he  resumed  his  way  to  the  stockade 
he  forgot  the  man  and  his  masquerading.    His 
sold  fiUed  with  the  joy  of  life  ^  love,  he  went 
to  his  cot  to  dream  of  his  bride  to  be 


CHAPTER  VIII 

"COMO  TE  AMO,  AMAMB" 

OILENCE  and   darkness  had  faUen   on  the 
*^  house  of  Arillo. 

Alone  in  her  room  sat  Loreto,  her  hands  clasped 
behind  her  head,  a  happy  smile  on  her  curving 
red  lips.  Carroll's  deep  manly  tones,  his  quaint 
little  touches  of  accent,  his  large  white  hands 
that  could  strike  such  mighty  blows,  were  aU 
her  thoughts. 

"Ah,  what  a  man  he  is,"  she  whispered  caress- 
ingly to  herself. 

Through  the  barred  window  came  the  tinkling 
melody  of  a  guitar;  then  a  rich,  clear  voice  sang: 

"So  still  and  calm  the  night  is, 

The  very  wind 's  asleep; 
Thy  heart 's  so  tender  sentinel. 

His  watch  and  ward  doth  keep. 
And  on  the  wings  of  zephyrs  soft 

That  wander  how  they  will. 
To  thee,  oh,  woman  fair,  to  thee, 

My  prayers  go  flutterbg  still. 
To  thee,  oh,  lady  fair,  to  thee. 

My  prayers  go  fluttering  still. 

"Oh,  take  the  heart's  love  to  thy  heart 
Of  one  that  doth  adore. 
Have  pity— add  not  to  the  flame 

That  btims  thy  troubadour, 
And  if  compassion  stir  thy  breast 
For  my  eternal  woe. 


"COMO  TE  AMO,  AMAME"         93 

Oh,  as  I  love  tiwe,  loveliest 

Of  women,  love  me  so. 
Oh,  as  I  love  thee,  loveliest 

Of  women,  love  me  so."» 

Could  it  be  her  American?-but  no.  it  was 
Zl^  7«-  As  she  giasped  the  b^  Z^ 
both  hands,  and  peered  out  into  the  ^gH. 
young  man  stepped  dose  to  the  window  fLk 
°'/"f '='P«'»°'=y  °»  his  d«amy,  moMe  w 

A  httle  npple  of  laughter  gree  Jhim     "T^" 
Se^-Servolo    Pale...    is   it   thou?    ^i 

"Loreto  mine.  I  have  always  loved  thee  since 
thou  wert  a  little,  little  girl." 
"But  Servolo."  she  protested,   "how  foolish 

Jos*  and  Manuel,  like  a  brother.'^  "■* 

Could  I  speak  of  love  with  others  ever  near? 

t^o     ■Z\*^''  f*"'  thanks  be  to  i^' 

w    '^  "°'  fwhsh."  he  said  with  dignity   as 
he  took  her  hand  and  raised  it  to  his  KiT 

Always,  always,  hast  thou  been  to  me  the 
hght  of  my  life,  the  joy  of  my  heart  aL  if 
would  km  me.  Wo.  I  thou 'c^S' not  1^4' 

Little  she  knew  how  truly  he  spoke. 

tnuSr.'S^'c^  I-  lS:>^  «»«  ^<1  P«»i«ion  of  the 


■1  ^U, 


J  ;•  if  •  r'" 


:¥■-*-        ;  ^. 


i  i 


94  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

"But,  Servolo."  she  said,  amazement  still 
strong  upon  her,  "I  never  thought-I  never 
dreamed—  I  do  love  thee.  Thou  art  very 
dear  to  me,  even  as  Jos6  and  Manuel  are." 

"No,  no,"  he  protested,  and  there  was  a 
world  of  pain  in  his  tone,  "I  love  thee  as  a  man 
loves  the  woman  he  would  wed." 

"Oh,  Servolo,   I  am  so  sorry— so  sorry  for 
thee.     It     seems     so     strange—"    The    tears 
trembled  on  her  dark  lashes.    "But  it  can  never 
never  be." 

"Has  some  one  else  been  singing  at  thy  win- 
dow? he  asked,  a  new  note  of  fierceness  in 
his  voice. 

"No,  Servolo,  no.  It  is  not  the  American  way 
to—  She  checkea  herself,  and  covered  her 
face  with  her  hands.  "I  had  not  intended  to 
tell." 

"An  American,  Jesus  Maria!  An  American!" 
he  repeated  incredulously.  "And  they  so  rough 
and  wild.— men  who  drink  much  wine,  shout 
and  fight,  and  He  like  dogs  in  the  open  street. 
Oh,  Loreto!" 

"All  Americans  are  not  like  that;  Don  Benito 
Willard  and  Don  Abel  Steams  are  good  men 
and  Seiior  Carroll  is  an  officer  and  a  gentleman' 
and  also— thanks  be  to  the  Holy  Mother— a 
Catholic." 

"An  officer— a  gentleman— and  a  Catholic," 


"COMO  TE  AMO,  AMAME"         „ 

J«ad  drooped  betw«„  rt,^  •»«.  and  as  his 

up  his  head,    -r^  ,^  ?f«^-  throwing 
have  thee!"         '  "^  >all  hani    He  shaU  not 

kif  me  also,  Zt^  t^f'^^^'l  /'  ™«>d 
I  love  him  so."  ^"^  ^  '°^e  him, 

than  fatherTmX  ^l!  ^^  ''^^^  »°» 
aUthe  world."  ''"'*^'  "<>«  than 

'•H^r'^  he  spoken  yet.'" 

their^'co^t-th^"  r  •T*"  '"^  ^-» 
m  California  v-hT^e  :ar"''i^  "'  "^  =*^^ 
But,  promise  me    oh    Z     "  ^*""'  ^  °'er- 


96  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

I  blame  thee  not.    My  life  I  would  give  for  thee 
gladly,  as  before." 

He  had  recovered  his  composure,  and  his 
handsome  face  bore  evidence  of  the  truth  of  his 
brave,  fervid  words. 

"Still  shall  I  love  thee,  Loreto.  Ever,  if  I 
may,  let  me  serve  thee.  In  these  troublous 
times,  perhaps  I  may  shield  and  defend  thee. 
Thus  may  I  forget  my  grief  until  kind  Death 
releases  me."  Then  lifting  her  fingers  to  his 
lips,  he  strode  away  in  the  darkness. 

And  Loreto  Arillo,  her  tender  heart  aching 
for  the  friend  of  her  childhood,  wept  silently  on 
her  pillow,  till  sleep  fell  upon  her. 


CHAPTER  IX 

"tHB  sons  of  ANCIBNT  SPAIN" 

T^d^'S.T^^  °^  ^«  »o^«  ««g  died  away, 
and  the  mngmg  ended  with  a  final  sweeo 
on  ti  0  stnngs  of  the  guitar.  Heas^  at^ 
applause,  ready  and  generous,  the  ^  tj^ 
happxly.  and  handed  the  instrumenf  t^^ 
young  man  across  the  table. 

"It  is  now  for  thee,   Servolo— pardon  me 
governor.    Something  of  thine  own  "  ' 

under  the  little  curled  mustache.    Cast  in  a 
slender    m.old.    light-limbed    and    gracSul     hk 

'rS  'r "b  '^^f  1  "^'^  "^y  ^  -^'  ^^^ 

iramea  the  broad  low  brow  nf  t^o  a         • 
idealist     Vo*.  *u  ^  *"®  dreammg 

laeaJist  Yet  there  was  something  of  strength 
m  he  long  sweep  of  the  pointed  jaw.  ZT^e 
could  easily  imagine  that  the  soft  eyes  coSS^snTp 
m  anger.  Just  at  present  they  were  h^w  Zh 
ill-concealed  sorrow  PalerA  L^  "^vy  wiin 
his  heart.  ^^^  *  "^^^^^  «« 

As  his  fingers  wandered  aimJessIy  over  the 
stnngs  he  ga^d  around  at  the  dozen'yoi^g  mt 

flames^and  the  closed  and  shuttered  windows. 

Look  without  the  door,  commandant."  he 
said  to  Ignacio  Reyes. 

97 


i 


'It 


98  THE  DONS  OF  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

He  hummed  a  slow  crain,  his  fingers  ever 
searching,  seeking  on  the  strings  for  something 
that  eluded  them.  Then  the  notes  repeated, 
wavered,  and  rose  again,  till  the  twinkling  fingers 
found  themselves,  and  as  Reyes  re&iterud  with 
the  words,  "AU  is  weU,"  the  music  floated  into 
a  low,  plaintive  melody  of  the  minor  chord.  A 
moment  only  it  surged  on  alone,  then  his  clear 
tenor  voice  broke  forth  in  song. 

"The  8tr-nger  rules  our  fathers'  laod, 

Our  flag  in  dust  is  lain; 
Our  heads  we  bow  to  his  conunand, 

We  Sons  of  Ancient  Spain. 
Our  pulses  thrill  to  the  wondrous  tale 

Of  their  deeds  in  days  of  old. 
Ca!  can  it  be  otir  cheeks  grow  pale. 

Our  hearts  grow  weak  and  cdd? 

"The  race  whose  bold  an4  hardy  sons, 

First  Ocean's  wastes  essayed. 
The  Cross  <rf  Christ  to  the  heathen  brought, 

In  the  dusky  forest  glade. 
Our  pulses  thrill  to  the  wondrous  tale 

Of  their  deeds  in  the  days  of  old. 
Oh,  can  it  be  our  cheeks  grow  pale. 

Our  hearts  grow  weak  and  cold?  " 

As  the  grieving,  plaintive  melody  died  away  his 
quick  eyes  again  sought  the  faces  of  h^  compan- 
ions, with  a  gratified  smile. 

In  all  ages  it  has  been  men  with  the  brow  and 
the  eyes  of  Servolo  Palera  who  have  sung  the 
songs  that  have  echoed  in  the  hearts  of  men  — 


•"iHE  SONS  OP  ANCIENT  SPAIN"    „ 
aags  that  have  sent  them  from  th-,ir  ouiet  (ir^ 

eign  fidds  •  '°  '"*  "«'"'  °°  *»'"'  for- 

His  was  the  soul  of  the  ancient  bard  and  hi. 
h^dsome  face  glowed  with  gladness^he  ^o^' 
^f^°^^  """"tenanc^s.  their  he^  b^^S^ 
a^d  the  tears  trembling  on  their  lashe,  W^' 
o-ispoken  thoughts,  the  thoudurthaT^th  ^^ 
«™.ts  they  had  sought  to  Z^  ^h^  ^^ 
nage  and  assumed  indifference  h^  i,^  ^  ?" 
dragged  to  the  glaring  H^^f ^  ^L  ^^'' 

again  he  s^ng  *  tnumphant  strain,  and 

"The  tide  that  flowed  in  Cortfe'  vein.. 

The  blood  of  conquering  Spain. 

The  ra«»  that  won  these  hiUs  and  plains 
ShaU  conquer  once  again 

Wjthin  our  heart  the  hope  is  strong. 

The  hope  that  cannot  die— 
T^right  shaU  triumph  over  wrong 

iJeneath  our  southern  sky. 

"When  the  hills  are  soft  with  creeping  green 
And  the  mustard  blooms  ag^   *^' 
^'"^^  ««  their  banners  gi;«n. 
The  Sons  of  Ancient  Spain 


11 


xoo  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

WHUn  our  hmrta  tht  hope  is  ttroof . 

The  hope  that  never  diet, 
That  right  ehall  triumph  over  yrnog. 

Beneath  our  touthera  ikke." 

There  was  a  moment  of  tense  silence;  then 
a  delirious  roar  of  applause.  Around  him  they 
pressed,  with  outstretched  hands,  embracing  him, 
and  patting  him  on  the  back.  Ignacio,  with  a 
burst  of  Latin  fervidness,  bent  over  and  pressed 
his  lips  to  his  waving  locks. 

"Ah,  Servolo,  dear  friend  of  mine,  thou  art  a 
-rue  singer.  Thou  playest  on  our  hearts  as  easily 
as  on  thy  guitar." 

A  knock  on  the  door  caused  immediate  silence. 
"The  Americans!"  ran  the  whisper  around  the 
room. 

There  was  a  hurried  rush  for  the  back  entrance, 
but  Palera,  reaching  the  door  first,  set  his  back 
against  it  and,  raising  his  hand,  held  them  back. 

"Stop!  If  it  be  the  Americans,  the  house  is 
surrounded,  and  there  is  no  escape.  Would  you 
have  a  buUet  in  the  back  as  you  run  away  in  the 
darkness?  But  if  it  is  a  friend,  well— we  will 
sing  for  him  and  give  him  some  wine." 

He  unbarred  the  front  door,  and  Hugo  Vanuela 
stepped  inside. 

"Let  me  not  disturb  you,  my  friends,"  he  said 
in  his  deep  voice.  "Ah.  wine  and  song— both 
are  good.  But  do  you  not  fear  the  Americans 
will  discover  your  retreat?" 


"THE  SONS  OP  ANCIENT  SPAIN"  lox 

hJlu°'".  """^  '«™^^'  "'^  w  far  down  here 
by  the  nver.  The  nose  of  the  man  Gillie  i.  long 
•nd  Aarp  as  that  of  a  coyote,  but  he  h-  not  yet 
«neUed  out  our  bunx)w.  But,  Seflor  N^anuela, 
why  18  ,t  thou  hast  not  been  with  us  since  the 
mght  we  first  met?'* 

Vanuela  was  not  espedaDy  welcome  to  many 
of  the  young  men,  but  their  infinite  courtesy  forced 
then  to  a  show  of  hospitality. 

•nM'i^';^^"  ^'  *""*  **®  *=*^o*  ^  where  one 
wOl.  There  IS  much  to  do  at  the  rancho.  Then. 
I  do  not  love  the  putblo-at  present."  he  added 
with  a  wry  face. 

••Still,  there  are  things  that  amuse."  suggested 
Sen^olo  "The  saints  be  thanked  for  thati 
Pablo.  It  18  truly  a  shame  the  way  that  thou 
plaguest  the  sentry  at  the  stockade  gate-pepper- 
mg  hmi  with  smaU  stones  in  the  darkness,  from 
the  near-by  roofs.  Some  night  he  will  bring  thee 
tumbhng  down  with  a  shot  from  his  carbine  " 

tell  the  direction  from  which  they  come,  as  there 
are  always  more  than  one  of  us  on  different  roofs. 
But  thou.  Ignacio.  thou  wilt  be  caught  some  day- 
^g  him  'Pig.  pig.'  even  from  the  doors  across 
the  street,  m  the  broad  light  of  day." 
Ignado's  wholesome,  boyish  grin  testified  to  his 

"Ah,  governor,"  he  bantered,   "thou  needst 


I''' 


loa  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

not  ftsttime  «irt  of  virtue.  Who  wm  it  threw  the 
bleeding  head  of  a  pig  on  the  end  of  m  swinging 
naU  over  the  stockade  waU,  and  brought  the 
worthy  Gillie  himself  storming  from  his  bed?  A 
reward  has  been  posted  for  the  capture  of  the 
evU  doer.  Sanu  Maria  I  I  am  half-mind,.  to 
collect  it  myself." 

Hugo  -Tiiled  as  the  hearty  laughter  ran  around 
the  roo  Within  the  past  week  he  had  been 
busy  buyinf  a  welcome  with  MacNamara's  gold. 
"Ut  more  wine  be  brought.  It  is  for  me  to 
pay,"  he  added,  as  he  laid  several  gold  pieces  on 
the  table.    * '  Let  it  be  a  cask. " 

"Now,  Seflor  Vanuela,"  said  Reyes,  after  the 
glasses  had  been  emptied,  "you  shall  hear  our 
poet's  latest  effort.  Sing  for  us  again,  Servolo, 
thy  new  song,  'The  Sons  of  Ancient  Spain.'  " 

As  Palera  sang,  his  fine  face  Hushed  with  wine, 
the  young  men  threw  off  all  restraint,  and  swung 
into  -he  chorus  at  the  tops  of  their  voices. 

"Within  our  hearts  the  hope  is  Jtrong, 
The  hope  that  never  dies, 
Tb''t  right  shall  triumph  over  wrong, 
Beneath  our  southern  skies." 

"  'Tis  a  grand  song,  Sefior  Palera,"  Vanuela 
said  gravely.     "Allow  me  to  congratulate  you 
•Twould  go  well,"  he  added,  "to  the  sound  of 
marching  feet." 

Again  were  the  glasses  filled  and  emptied,  and 


1 


"THE  SONS  OP  ANCIENT  SPAIN"  103 

a^with  waving  hands  and  stamping  feet  they 
r^  through  the  chorus.  tiU  the  l^Uing  of  S 
«uitar  was  lost  in  the  tumult 

Vanuela  rose  to  his  feet.  "Priends."  he  said 
raismg  his  glass  aloft,  "to^y  i.  the  4  JTS 
days-the  night  of  all  nights.    Have  yL  foT^ 

Sv  "^f  M  ''  ".  "^^  '«^^  °^  ^'^^'  the 
day  of  Mexico's  independence?    ShaU  it  pass 

without  our  showing  the  Americans,  though  wn- 
quered  we  may  be.  we  have  not  f^rgottS  Td 
never  will  forget?" 

Loud  handclapping.  and  shouts  of  "No  no'" 
P^eted  him.  ' 

"i>et  us  then  go  in  the  darkness  and  sing  in 
the  ears  of  our  friend  Gillie  the  wonderfj^ng 
Ir  ^*'  u^*'  ^^  '"^y  ^^'^  ^«  have  not7^! 

learts.     TwiU  be  rare  sport  to  bring  him  and 

ills  men  tumbling  from  their  beds,  but  to  ^ 

upon  an  empty  street."  w  gaze 

"But  hold."  said  Palera;  "they  may  fire  uoon 

-   pe  man  Gillie  has  been  much  1^:!^ 

"Bah!    In  the   darkness   we   are   safe.    The 
Americans  shoot  weU.  but  in  the  night,  and  when 

straight.    However,  if  thou  art  afraid-" 

^o^f''\  ^^"^  I'^^PP^  indignantly.     "I  wiU 
go,    he  said  quietly. 


■    -si' 


I  '11 


104  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

"And  noise,  noise,"  broke  in  a  voice.  "We 
must  have  plenty  of  it;  there  is  an  old  drum  in 
the  back  room,  I  believe." 

"There  is.  It  needs  only  tightening,"  said 
Ignacio,  as  he  hastened  to  get  it. 

"Wait,"  said  Pablo.    "I  will  get  father's  old 
escopeta.    It  is  but  a  few  steps  across  the  vine- 
yard.   There  is  a  charge  of  powder  in  it  ah-eady." 
Silently,  and  with  infinite  caution,  the  little 
line  of  dark  f  gures  trailed  across  the  vineyards 
and  wound  through  cornfields,  stopping  here  and 
there  at  a  warning  signal  from  Vanuela.    Reaching 
the  main  road  leading  from  the  river  to  the  houses 
thickly  grouped  about  the  plaza,  they  lay  flat  on 
their  faces  in  an  olive  grove  while  an  American 
patrol  trotted  past. 

"Tie  up  that  drum  a  little  tighter,  Ignacio.    It 
clanks  and  is  noisy,"  whispered  Servolo. 

There  was  no  moon,  and  the  sky,  overcast  with 
a  blanket  of  clouds,  showed  not  a  single  solitary 
star.  Through  the  inky  reek  of  the  night  they 
crept  past  houses  where  dogs  barked  inquiringly. 
As  they  stole  across  the  street  toward  the  stockade 
gate  Vanuela  lagged  behind  and,  slipping  to  the 
rear  of  one  of  the  buildings,  was  lost  in  the  dark- 
ness. In  the  intense  excitement  of  the  moment 
his  absence  was  uimoticed.  Suddenly  the  hush 
of  night  was  broken  by  loud  yells,  the  rattle  of  a 
drum,  and  a  single  shot. 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  CLANK  OP  CHAINS 

the  light  of  the  flaring  torcTtS;  t^hT"  • " 
'oar  of  dnmken  men.  ^ing  aT^^^.'^'^f 
d^  to  nudnight.  and  only  an  W  ago  *Z^ 

front.«^men  were  greater  disturbers  of  tte  ^ 
tarns  peace  o   mind  than  even  the  Califo^ 

even  h,m  a  list  of  the  men  whTt  sa.?^ 
oT^.S^him"''  »-»^  "^^  ^ 
o   men  vrhose  paroles  were  locked  in  his^ 

■■pd»w.  the^ZJ^r,.*f.?:?"'«»°«»- 


Pshaw,    the    feUow   is    lying," 


105 


he   assured 


i 


106    THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

p^es."  '"^"^  '"'"  ^  "°'  «°^«  *°  b^  tJ^eir 

The  imprisoned  men  in  the  guardhouse  had 

qmeted  down,  and  to  his  ears  camT^^nH^tered 

SThe  i:  "^^  ''^  """"  °^  long-dra™:;: 
At  the  gate  the  crunch,  crunch,  of  the  sentry's 
footsteps  was  broken  only  by  the  short  sto^wlTre 
he  turned  to  retrace  his  beat. 
Suddenly,  by  the  east  gate,  the  blackness  of 

the  ri^sh  of  many  feet  and  the  quick,  regular 
throbbmg  of  a  drum.  Above  it  aU  ros^  th^ 
sound  .f  singing,  fierce  and  triumphant. 

"Thesun  shall  see  their  bannera gleam, 
The  Sons  of  Ancient  Spain." 

Stones  rattled  on  the  gate  and  hurtled  in  the 
darkness  over  the  low  wall;  the  dnun  tatSrf  a 
wJd  fanfare,  and  the  crimson  streak  of  a  eZhot 
deft  the  darkness.  In  quick  response  t^Se 
of  the  sentry  at  the  gate  barked  out  towZZ 
sound  of  the  tumult.  * 

"To  arms!  To  arms!" 

The  wild  cry  echoed  through  the  stockade 
and  m  a  moment  it  was  filled  with  men  hS 
^  and  hatless,  their  guns  in  the"  iJT 
then-  eyes  w.de  and  wondering.  Some  one  Xew 
open  the  guardhouse  door,  and  the  prisonSs 
stangely  sober  now.  took  their  places  TZ 
walls.    In  a  moment,  above  gate  and  wall  aliS 


THE  CLANK  OP  CHAINS  ,07 

musket     barrels    protruded     Tt,      -t 

^ited.  glaring  intoThr^e^fort^^^    '"'^ 
of  a  moving  figure     Par  o  f    ^  «^^mmer 

m  the  darkness.  *^®^  "^en 

n«e  ^rZnm^  °°ilir*  '-^  '»"  -^th 

laag>'  e  at  himf   ?,  °'™   "^    "ere 

In  the  wild  tumult  of  his  tired  hrJIuF^^ 
sen<M»  r»f  *u^      1  .■  °  °^^m  he  lost  all 

sense  of  the  relative  proportion  of  things     m. 
teeth  ^e  together  with  a  snap-  hTS^  . 
speak,  but  from  his  dry  lips  theTra'n,  *° 

He  thought  of  VWalnH  v'"^'^"^^- 
warnings;  of  the  list  Ses  Tm.  v'^'^^ 
was  indeed  being  made  a^l  oTb^^^men  .f 
h^d^^ed  the  paroles.    He  called^  ^^.^fi^^ 

"Lieutenant   Carroll,"   he   said     =c   u 
do^  the  steps,  "you  wm  taTe   •  d'taS  ofT" 
men,  a-l  anest  and  bring  here  t J!!r      u^ 
names  are  on  this  list  ™  "^  '''«'* 

oil"^" ''"'"  **  -^P^^  '°  'he  light  of  the  flaring 
"Arillo,"  he  gasped,  as  the  written  words  sprang 


io8    THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

up  before  him.  "Pardon  me,  captain;  this  is 
fo'Iy.  That  man  is  devoted  to  our  interests.  I 
saw  him  in  his  own  house  not  an  hour  ago." 

"Lieutenant  CarroU,  you  wiU  arrest  those  men 
at  once.  Not  only  that,  but  you  wilt  accept  no 
paroles  not  to  attempt  to  escape.  ForestaU  any 
attempt  at  rescue,— shackle  each  and  every  one 
of  them  securely,  before  bringing  them  here." 

A  moment  later  a  marine  threw  the  chains 
clanking  at  CarroU's  feet.    On  the  lieutenant's 
brow  the  beads  of  cold  sweat  glittered  in  the 
torchlight.    With  an  impulsive  gesture  he  drew 
his  sword,  the  wild  idea  of  breaking  it  across  his 
knee,   of  tearing  off  his  shcilder  straps,   and 
castmg  them  aU  at  Gillie's  feet,  sweeping  through 
his  mind.    With  the  hilt  in  one  hand,  the  other 
graspmg  the  naked  blade,  he  stood  for  a  fleeting 
instant,    gazing    into    the    captain's    bloodshot 
eyes.    Then  with  stony  face  he  saluted,  slid  the 
sword  mto  its  scabbard,  and  turned  away. 

Through  the  dense  darkness  of  the  streets 
with  the  white  adobes  looming  ghostlike  around 
them  for  a  moment,  then  fading  away  in  the 
universal  blackness,  they  marched.  Lieutenant 
CarroU  pounded  loudly  with  his  sword-hilt  on 
Arillo's  door,  and  Don  Jos6  Antonio  himself 
appeared,  half  clad,  his  eyes  blinking  wonderingly 
at  the  clamor. 
"Sefior  Carroll!" 


THE  CLANK  OF  CHAINS 


Z09 

"I  d::^j:,':^^.f'"«-°'yscod  friend." 

and  unnatural     In  Th^  T^^  !J'^«''>'  *^t^' 

looking    at    him    wondS;.  t    ^r?H ""' 
explain.  '=*"^giy,    He    could   not 

stuped  In^^etc^Xt^-  °^"  "'=  -"' 
Jos^  Antonio  tuJ^^edT^Ti^T  °'?°" 
He  staggered  back  as  a  te^dT  '"  '""'^• 
the  face.  With  ey^  l^L  W  "hi  "  " 
tow^  the  waU.  where  hungL^;d''^  ^""^ 

Soo.«r^a'Se"^K^^   "*   ^'^'°-   »«ver! 
a«.ou  whlt^^STarS""^^'    °°« 

and  held  hto,  f«ri^       T^  '^^  *'»"'  him. 
-^ap^tlr^^esT^^^-the^oor 

Jos/^d  tlr^'       ""^  ■*^°-  I*«'o,  Manuel 

his  head^t  '^,*^!^«''*?0°°Jos6  Antonio, 
trickCin'^LtaS"^  °f  »S-  -d  shame 

there  was  a  oteL^„-,    c^"'  °"  *«  ^°0'- 
,        "  '""'="6  "^  of  utter  consternation 


M 


1' 


110  THE  DONS  OF  THE  OLD  PUEPLO 

from  them  all, —  from  all  save  Loreto  and  her 
mother. 

■ 

Carroll  held  up  his  hand,  and  his  voice,  hoUowand 

broken,  reached  their  ears  in  an  tmavailing  protest. 

"Believe   me,    Seiiora   Arillo,    it    breaks   my 

heart  to  do  this.    But  a  soldier  must  obey  orders. 

Perhaps  all  will  be  well  to-morrow." 

The  seilora  had  been  clinging  to  her  husband, 
her  face  wrenched  in  agony,  her  cheeks  wet  with 
tears.  She  turned  on  Carroll  a  look  of  fierce, 
burning  hatred. 

"You  cur!"  she  cried. 

Loreto  stood  near  her,   still  and  white,  her 
hands  crossed  c  i  her  heaving  bosom,  her  eyes 
wide  in  trance-like  horror. 
To  her,  the  man  reached  his  hands  imploringly. 
"Loreto,  you,— surely  you  understand?" 
The  black  eyes  stared  blankly  into  his,  and 
from  her  ashen  lips  the  words,  slow  and  distinct, 
cold  and  cruel,  cut  him  like  a  lash: 

"I  pray  God  that  I  may  never  look  upon  your 
face  again." 

With  a  low  moan  she  sank  to  the  floor,  her  face 
biuied  in  her  hands. 

Mechanically,  Carroll  gave  the  necessary 
orders,— "Shoulder  arms,  forward,  march!"  and 
Don  Jos€  Antonio  Arillo,  bareheaded,  and  sur- 
rounded by  a  ring  of  pointed  bayonets,  was  led 
away  from  his  weeping  household. 


THE  CLANK  OP  CHAINS 


cn^edtTa^e^-    ^^  "*"'  ^  «« 
angrily  Prote^  mgnL  tll/r^  ''°°"'  °* 

WaspL's::Cert?rLfj-'  ^" 

With  Don  Jesus  Pico  h^^    •     ^     ^"^  governor, 

Garfias,  Don  Francisco  Ri,t,^^V  ***""=' 
F«»cisco  Cota.  ST  w;  ^bt^°  '"<' 
worn,  and  many  other.,  XentaS,  "^  *"^ 
ev«j  one  dragging  ti,e  shamef^  ".»;  ^"-^ 
AH  night  long  the  terror  spread    fnr  =i    '^ 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE  COURIERS  OF  THE  NIGHT 

TTTHEN  the  answering  shot  of  the  sentry  flashed 

»  ^  through  the  darkness  that  fateful  midnight, 
one  of  the  rioters  lurched  against  Palera,  a  cling- 
ing hand  caught  his  sleeve,  and  a  familiar  voice 
gasped, 

"Sanguis!    I  am  killed  I" 

It  was  Ignado  Reyes,  shot  through  the  breast, 
and  while  Servolo  and  Pablo,  shocked  by  the 
tragic  end  of  their  frolic,  bore  him  quickly  to  his 
home,  the  others,  ignorant  of  the  tragedy,  had 
scampered  away,  pleased  with  the  escapade. 

Surrounded  by  his  sorrowing  mother  and 
sisters,  within  an  hour  the  boy  was  dead.  As 
Servolo,  shaken  by  sobs,  buried  his  tear-stained 
face  in  the  drapery  of  the  bed,  the  insistent 
thought,  clear  and  agonizing,  saddened  his  soul 
and  burned  in  his  brain— the  thought  that  it  had 
been  his  own  consent  to  the  wild  venture  that  had 
sent  his  friend  Ignado  to  his  sudden  fate. 
^^  "Ignacio,  Ignacio,"  he  whispered  piteously, 
"forgive  me,  forgive  me!  I  could  not  know— I 
could  not  know."  It  was  to  Servolo  the  second 
tragedy  on  his  heavy  heart. 

Pressing  his  lips  to  the  cold  brow  of  his  dead 
friend,  he  took  leave  of  the  weeping  women  and 

113 


THE  COURIERS  OP  THE  NIGHT    ,,3 

stepped  into  the  stiU  night.    As  he  did  «.  t.„ 
figures  emerged  from  the  darkness  of  a  nlhtil^ 

v«»da,  and  Hugo  Vanueiaa^^:!„''rSrf 

"Is  the  boy  badly  hurt,  seflor?" 
^  He  .s  dead,"  answered  Servolo,  in  a  brealdng 

"Dead,— Jesus   Maria!     So-o^  "       \r 

w,.M^;""*^^'"»'"^'<J  the  other  man     It 
^sMacWa  and  he  spoke  in  a  low.  t^* 

w'l^d'Tt  l"^  f-W"  Almagro,  a  Spamard 
"OTg  resident  in  Meaco,  that  MacNamara  hart 
been^passmg  among  those  who  knew  ^  'tS^ 

"To  what  end?  Ah!  you  do  not  know-no 
one  knows  but  our  friend  Vanuela.  You  oled^ 
me  your  word  to  keep  the  source  of  yo^Tnfo^f 
tion  to  yourself?"  imorma- 

Palera  nodded. 

'Z^^l^l  ""^  '"'■"  *"«  »»th  that  a 

raican  army  of  many  thousands  is  preoarin., 

to  march  north  to  our  assistance  "         ^'^^^^S 

Palera  started,  and  glanced  at  Vanuela.    Hugo 


k^^^ 

m 

wsWSBBm 

mmjjimjii^g~ 

"''^' s^^^^^^^H 

«<i^^^H 

^^^^R 

'im^^M 

^m 

i^^H 

HB 

ti^ 


Ml  ^ 


X14  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

nod  '  {  confinnatian,  but  the  darkness  hid  his 
sly  smile  of  admiration  at  the  spy's  bold,  ingenious 
mendacity. 

"We  will  ride,"  went  on  MacNamara,  "to 
every  house  to-night  where  there  is  a  .tian  and 
a  gim,  and  warn  them  that  the  stockade  will  be 
attacked  before  noon  and  that  the  signal  will 
be  three  shots  from  the  hilltop.  You,  my  good 
Servolo,  shall  fire  the  shots.  Tell  them  of  the 
murder  of  Reyes;  remind  them  that  there  are 
but  fifty  men  in  the  stockade.  I  myself  will 
ride  by  the  river  to  the  south,  you  through  the 
fielfls  to  the  north,  while  Vanuela  can  rouse  those 
in  town. 

"Ah I  thou  art  not  the  man,"  he  continued  in 
his  caressing:  voice,  "to  let  the  blood  of  thy 
friend  and  brother  go  unavenged.  Thou  art  not 
the  man  to  let  pass  this  occasion  to  strike  a 
telling  blow  for  thy  coimtry,  and  win  honor  for 
the  name  of  Palera.  Wilt  thou  ride  with  us? 
Answei'  quickly,  sefior,  for  time  passes." 

"Santa  Madre,  yes!"  There  was  a  fierce,  glad 
ring  in  Servolo's  voice.  "Sefior  Ahnagro,  I  am 
with  you  now  and  always." 

A  quiet  handclasp,  and  they  were  on  their 
horses,  moving  silently  through  the  night. 

Others  were  abroad  in  the  darkness. 

A  dozen  times  Palera  and  MacNamara  dodged 
Lieutenant   Somers   and   his   patrol,    riding   six 


THE  COURIERS  OP  THE  NIGHT    115 

abreast  down  the  wide  lanes  in  the  outskirts  of  the 
pueblo.  Prom  behind  the  comer  of  an  adobe 
Hugo  Vanuela  watched  Carroll  and  his  men  crosi 
the  pla^  with  Don  Jos«  Antonio,  and  as  the 
dank  of  the  chams  reached  his  ears,  he  muttered, 
bo-o-o,  chams  on  the  proud  Arillo!  It  is  music 
to  my  ears.    Ah.  would  I  could  see  his  face! " 

Short  was  the  message  that  they  carried  to 
sleepy  men  and  terrified  women  during  the  long 
hours  of  that  memorable  mght  of  September 
16.   i846--an  army  was  coming  from  Mexico 
— Ignacio  Reyes  had  been  shot  to  death  by  the 
Amencans— the  time  had  come  to  fight— there 
were  only  fifty  men  in  the  stockade,  and  it  would 
be  an  easy  task  to  surround  and  capture  them. 
Q'lietly  were  they  to  gather  on  aU  vantage  points 
and  wait  for  the  three  signal  shots  from  the  hill' 
J^d  they  did  not  faU.    Cahnly  the  men  of  the 
pueblo.   CastUian  and  peon  alike,  kissed  their 
weepmg  wives  and  children  fareweU  end  crept 
seo-etly  through  the  night,   their  guns  hidden 
under  the  voluminous  folds  of  their  scrapes 

When  morning  dawned,  they  were  lying  con-  , 
ce^ed  on  the  roofs  surrounding  the  stockade, 
and  hidden  behind  the  crumbling  ramparts  on 
the  hiUtop.  waiting  impatiently  for  the  signal,— 
the  three  warning  shots  that  would  mean  the 
^ning    of    the    struggle    for    the    mastery    of 


p 


1 16  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

The  blunders  of  Captain  Gillie,  the  intrigues 
of  a  British  secret  agent,  and  the  machinations  of 
a  vindictive  half-breed,  were  destined  to  bear 
bloody  fruit. 

The  work  of  Stockton  and  Fremont  had  been 
undone. 


CHAPTER  XII 

WAR 

T'^r^^"*  '^T  *?  "^<>^el>t  «««.  broke 

^  ^?      :..  ^'"'^«*  was  the  noonday  vivWneM 
c  ungni  green  of  the  sycamores  by  the  strAnm 

coudi,  harassed  by  torturing  doubts  a  ^^i 
a  thousand  fear*:  H,*o  u  «5^"""ts.  a  prey  to 
fury  hadfLT^"  ^""*  °^  uncontrollable 

iS^iL  i    ?^  *^^  ""^"^"^t  Carroll  and  his  men 

^me  h  °^^  "^^  "^^  ^P^  J^  appare^y 
become  himself  again,  contained  and  self-^d!!, 
but  as  ever  stubborn  and  unyielc^g.^tu"   i^ 
the  mormng  at  roll-caU.   the  lieutenant    noted 
^ace.  pale  and  worn,  his  eyes  hollow  °^1 


weary, 

There  had  been  so: 
eyed  silence  of  the  i 
chained  of  foot  and 


)mething  in  the  cahn,  frozen- 
manacled 
girdled 


men,  who  though 


yet  had  faced  hin.  the  night  befo„.to5; 


by  glistening  sted 


"7 


swaying 


!'■'■ 


ii8  THE  DONS  OF  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

flare  of  the  torchlight,  with  heads  held  high  and 
brows  undaunted — a  something  that  had  given 
him  pause,  with  a  sense  of  his  own  indefinable 
smallness.  Dimly  he  must  have  thought,  if 
indeed  he  had  thought  of  it  at  all,  to  have  found 
them  crushed  and  humiliated,  craving  grace  and 
mercy  at  his  hands.  But  he  knew  not  their 
spirit.  Beyond  one  brief  negative, —  a  negative 
which  denied  any  part  or  share  in  the  disturbance 
of  the  night, —  by  no  further  word,  look,  or  sign 
would  they  intimate  a  knowledge  even  of  his  very 
existence.  Don  Jos6  Antonio  had  folded  his 
arms  and  looked  straight  over  the  captain's  head, 
and  Gillie's  repeated  questionings  brought  but  a 
curve  of  contempt  to  his  bearded  lips. 

Far  more  hurriedly  than  was  his  wont,  the 
captain  paced  up  and  down  the  veranda,  his 
fingers  ever  pulling  and  twisting  his  protuberant 
under  lip.  Ever  and  anon  he  paused  and  glanced 
at  the  guardhouse,  that  held  the  prisoners  of 
the  midnight  raid.  He  hurried  halfway  across 
the  stockade,  hesitated  again,  and  with  a  final 
toss  of  his  head,  strode  to  the  door  and  ordered 
them  released. 

Ominously  silent,  they  stood  erect  as  the  marine, 
kneeling  before  them,  clicked  the  key  in  the 
locks  and,  one  by  one,  cast  away  the  chains. 
Very  still  and  very  austere  were  they  as  they 
passed,  one  after  another,  through  the  narrow 


WA^ 


119 


door,  Arillo  and  Alvar-  ;  upportrnj  the  half- 
fainting  figure  of  the  a^i'.'  n  n  i^ugo  Yorba. 
They  slowed  their  steps  for  a  brief  moment, 
glancing  at  Gillie  half  expectantly. 

Surely,  surely,  there  would  be  some  word  of 
apology,  of  regret,  of  explanation.  But  with 
one  hand  on  his  sword  hilt,  the  other  tugging  at 
his  lip,  he  stood  wordless,  watching  them  as  they 
went  through  the  big  gate  swung  open  before 
them.  Alas  for  Gillie  that  he  lacked  the  graces 
of  the  old-world  courtesy! 

As  the  captain  turned  away  with  something 
akin  to  a  sigh  of  relief,  a  ringing  sound  caught 
his  ear.  Marshall  was  seated  on  the  sand, 
pounding  at  the  vent  hole  of  one  of  the  spiked 
cannon.  Smiling  at  the  man's  persistence.  Gillie 
walked  away. 

Hour  after  hour  the  metallic  clang  continued. 
The  sun  struggled  through  the  clouds,  driving  the 
morning  mists  from  the  foothills,  licking  up  the 
stray  wisps  of  fog  from  the  valleys,  and  chasing 
the  shortening  shadows  back  toward  the  moun- 
tains. The  sentry  at  the  gate  sought  the  protection 
of  the  veranda  shade,  and  sat  with  his  back  to  the 
steps,  his  head  drooping  in  sltmiber. 

Suddenly  he  sprang  to  his  feet;  Marshall's 
hammer  remained  poised  in  the  air,  his  head  erect. 
Then  they  both  grabbed  their  carbines  and 
rushed  to  where,  already,  two  frontiersmen  had 


i^^KH^g^j:- 


120    THE  DONS  OF  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

climbed  the  low  embankment  inside  the  wall, 
and  were  staring  up  the  street  toward  the 
plaza. 

Wave  after  wave  of  cheers  flooded  the  noonday 
air;  not  the  full-throated  roar  of  the  Anglo-Saxon, 
but  the  sharp  yell,  shrill  and  prolonged,  that 
comes  from  Latin  throats. 

"God  a'mighty,"  gasped  Brooks,  "they've 
pulled  down  the  flag!" 

"Yep,"  commented  Marshall,  "  them  greasers '11 
be  startin'  somethin'  in  about  two  minutes." 

He  was  picking  his  flint  and  looking  to  his 
cartridge  box  as  he  spoke. 

"Cracky,  we're  in  for  it  now!"  yelled  Brooks, 
still  peering  over  the  wall.  ' '  There 's  the  Mexican 
flag!"  he  added,  as  the  red,  white,  and  green  with 
its  emblazoned  Aztec  eagle  fluttered  to  the  top 
of  the  plaza  flagpole. 

Even  as  he  spoke,  three  shots  rang  out  from  the 
hill;  a  singing  bullet  flicked  up  the  sand  at  his 
feet,  and  the  hillside  above  the  stockade  echoed 
the  scattering  crackle  of  musketry.  Skipping 
and  ricochetting  on  the  sandy  floor,  the  bullets 
flew,  burying  themselves  in  the  adobe  walls  with 
a  sighing  sound,  smacking  sharply  on  the  brea 
roofs,  and  droning  overhead  like  the  far-off  hum 
of  busy  bees. 

At  the  first  outbiu^t  of  firing,  the  men  rushed 
to  arms,  and  as  they  piled  out  of  their  quarters 


WAR 

GiUie  drew  his  sword,  and  his  figure  straightened. 
In  the  actual  presence  of  danger  the  man's  figure 
loomed  larger  and  nobler,  and  his  clouded  face 
cleared. 

,  "MarshaU,  take  a  dozen  men  to  the  right  roof  • 
Brooks,  another  dozen  to  the  left.  Lieutenant 
Somers,  take  command  at  the  west  wall  with 
ten  men;  Lieutenant  Carroll,  to  the  east  gate 
with  the  rest."  ^ 

On  the  roofs  of  the  adobes  about  the  stockade 
on  the  top  of  the  hill,  by  the  belfry  of  the  church' 
were  the  half-hidden  forms  of  armed  men.  Puffs 
of  white  smoke  broke  out  everywhere.  In  fuU 
view  on  the  face  of  th  :  m,  hidden  in  the  corn- 
fields close  at  hand,  she  from  behind  the  cor- 
ners of  the  buildings  on  Lie  streets,  were  the  lurking 
enemy,  loading  and  firing  toward  the  stockaC^ 
with  vicious  rapidity. 

Up  the  veranda  posts,  as  agile  as  monkeys, 
the  frontiersmen  had  clambered,  and  they  were 
now  lying  face  down,  their  heads  toward  the  ridge 
of  the  roof.  Irregularly  their  rifles  spoke  as 
they  sighted  a  head  or  an  arm  on  the  neighboring 
buildings. 

"Look,  over  there,  Morris,"  said  MarshaU  to 
the  man  near  him.  "See  that  fellow  climbing 
up  the  roof  of  that  'dobe?  Watch  me  get  him." 
A  moment's  steady  aim,  and  Marshall's  carbine 
cracked.    The  climbing  man  whirled  about  on 


Ai 


nigy^aaai.:  | 


123  THE  DONS  OF  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

one  foot,  legs  and  arms  wild-flung,  then  pitched 
headlong  into  the  street. 

"Got  that  fellow,  too,"  grinned  Morris,  as  a 
moment  later  a  Califomian  who  had  rashly 
ventured  a  bold  dash  across  a  street  fell  forward 
on  his  face,  kicked  spasmodically,  and  then  lay 
still. 

"Carroll,"  shouted  Gillie,  "have  your  men 
clear  the  hill.    Never  mind  the  roofs." 

"Let  the  houses  across  the  street  alone,  boys. 
Get  the  fellows  on  the  hill.  Shoot  carefully; 
pick  you*"  men,"  suggested  Carroll. 

His  voice  was  cool  and  deliberate,  but  within, 
his  heart  was  aching  miserably.  Mingled  with 
the  sharp  cracking  of  the  rifles  and  the  deeper 
booming  of  the  escopetas,  he  could  almost  hear 
the  sibilant  words  of  the  Indian  woman: 

"Blood  shall  smear  your  path — shall  smear 
your  path." 

The  irregular  sputter  of  rifles  at  the  gate  facing 
the  hill  grew  into  a  volleying  roar.  On  the  slope 
a  Califomian  dropped  his  gim,  toppled  over,  and 
rolled  down.  Another  slid  to  the  grotmd;  he 
was  grasped  and  supported  by  two  others,  but 
they  too  crumpled  up,  and  the  three,  arms  and 
legs  thrashing  helplessly,  tiunbled  halfway  down 
the  incline,  and  lay  still. 

For  an  hoiu-  the  fight  went  on.  As  the  Cali- 
fomians  saw  their  comrades  near  them  totter. 


WAR 


"3 


grasp  at  the  empty  air,  and  crash  into  the  street 
below,  their  reckless  ardor  cooled.  Slowly,  reluc- 
tantly, the  booming  of  the  escopetas  died  away, 
the  rifles  of  the  Americans  became  silent.  The 
unerring  aim  of  the  frontiersmen  had  swept  the 
streets,  the  houses,  and  the  hill  clear  of  every 
living  thing.  WeU  protected  by  the  adobe  waUs', 
the  Americans  were  uninjured;  but  in  the  streets 
and  on  the  hillside  lay  six  silent,  sprawling  figures, 
and  as  many  more  had  crawled  home  to  die. 

"Jehosophat!"  cried  Marshall,  as  he  sprang 
excitedly  to  his  feet.    "See  them  skedaddle!" 

In  straggling  groups  the  Califomians  could  be 
seen  racing  toward  the  river,  some  on  horseback, 
others  clinging  to  the  stirrups  of  the  riders! 
Beyond  the  stream  the  plain  was  dotted  with 
horsemen  seeking  safety  in  flight. 

The  garrison  broke  into  ringing,  exultant  cheers. 
The  fight  was  over. 


•■■f 


111 


11' 


fi 


i 


i    I'- 


'W/ 


CHAPTER  XIII 

"sons  op  the  land,  awake!" 

TV/TAC  NAMARA,  his  brow  black  as  night,  was 
^^■*'  one  of  the  first  to  reach  the  river.  As  he 
sat  on  his  horse,  watching  the  fugitives  gallop  past, 
Servolo  Palera  himself  appeared,  his  face  drawn 
with  dismay. 

"Be  not  downcast,  friend  Palera,"  said  the 
Englishman  as  he  laid  his  hand  on  the  other's 
arm.  "It  is  a  long  road,  this  on  which  we  have 
started,  and  there  are  many  turnings.  Do  thou 
send  men  to  guard  all  the  crossings  of  the  river. 
Give  them  instructions  to  direct  every  one  to  ride 
to  the  hollow  beyond  the  Paredon  Bluff.  There 
we  can  gather  and  organize  for  further  action, 
and  there  too,  my  Servolo,  thou  wilt  issue  a 
proclamation  that  shall  make  the  land  ring." 

There  they  gathered  behind  the  great  white 
bluff,  a  mile  down  the  stream,  a  confused,  dis- 
couraged crowd  of  young  men.  The  older  men  of 
the  pueblo  had,  in  spite  of  their  midnight  arrest, 
held  themselves  aloof  from  the  attack. 

By  the  side  of  the  little  stream,  in  the  tree- 
embowered  hollow,  more  than  one  yoimg  man  sat 
on  the  grass  silently  weeping  for  the  brother, 
cousin,  or  friend  he  had  seen  totter  and  fall, 
crashing  to  the  street  below. 


1 2  J. 


"SONS  OP  THE  LAND.  AWAKE!"  ,„ 
thl' h  ^  *,  ^*^r  »id  a  boy  of  sixteen,  "but 
i-oor  Pedro,  he  did  but  raise  his  head  above  the 

thS'^  h"^   '^"^   *°^''^"^'    P^^^   addressed 
i^~  Vi,      7'  ^  ''^^^^'  ^^^*  °^^«r.  and  soon 

?ili,  ^i'^^^r^^^P^-  When  he  announced 
that  he  had  reliable  infonnation  that  a  Mexican 
army  would  soon  be  on  the  march  through  Sonora 
there  was  a  ^d  chorus  of  ecstatic  yells  in 
the  background  stood  MacNamam,  moodily 
chewmgatwig.    These  verbal  pyrotechnics  ^re 

tLfl  "T'^'  .^"'  ^'  ^"^^''^  ^^'  a  little 
less  talk  and  a  httle  more  action.    On  his  own 

suggestion  he  was  placed  in  charge  of  the  com- 
imssaxy.  and  before  nightfaU  he  had  proved  his 
worth.  Cattle  and  sheep  were  drivel  into  the 
camp,  and  butchered  on  the  ground 

Hugo  Vanuela  rode  into  the  camp  during  the 
early  afternoon.    As  his  gaze  swept  the  hollow 
and  he  noted  the  &^s  where  the  meat  was  J^g 
roasted   he  smiled  grimly  at  these  evidences  of 
the  work  of  the  ever-active  MacNamara. 

«n  ^'  »'?T  ^^"^^^'"  ^id  Palera  as  he  rode 
tip,  well  I  knew  that  it  would  not  be  I^ne  tiU 
you^worJd  be  with  us.     What  news  from' the 


i  ;' 


126  THE  DONS  OF  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

"Nothing,  Servolo,  nothing.  The  worthy  gen- 
tlemen whom  Gillie  ornamented  with  chains  last 
night  were  released  this  morning,  even  before  the 
attack,  and  are  still  nursing  their  hurt  dignity." 

As  MacNamara  rode  up  and  lightly  swung 
hunself  to  the  ground,  Palera  drew  from  his 
clothing  a  roll  of  paper. 

"Listen,  friends,  I  have  drafted  a  proclamation. 
The  older  men  among  the  gente  de  razon,  our 
friend  Hugo  tells  us,  hesitate,  but  let  us  hope  that 
this  will  stir  their  blood." 

"Proclamation  of  Servolo  Palera  and  other  Califomians 
against  the  Americans: 

"Califomians,  Mexicans,  Sons  of  the  Land,  awake,  and 
strike  for  God  and  Liberty!  Blood  has  been  shed  on  the  streets 
of  Our  Lady  Queen  of  the  Angels.  Homes  have  been  made 
desolate  by  the  cruelty  of  the  strangers  who  would  conquer  us. 
Shall  we  be  capable  of  permitting  ourselves  to  be  subjugated  and 
to  accept  their  insolence  and  the  heavy  yoke  of  slavery?  Shall 
we,  in  whose  veins  flows  the  blood  of  the  conquistadores,  lose 
the  soil  inherited  from  our  fathers,  the  land  which  cost  them 
80  much  labor  and  so  much  blood?  Shall  we  leave  our  families 
victims  of  the  most  barbarous  servitude?  Shall  we  wait  to  see 
our  wives  outraged,  our  innocent  children  beaten  by  American 
whips,  our  property  sacked,  our  temples  profaned— to  drag  out 
a  life  of  shame  and  disgrace? 

"No,  a  thousand  times  no!    Death  rather  than  that. 

"Who  of  you  does  not  feel  his  heart  beat  fiercely,  and  his 
blood  boil,  on  contemplating  our  impending  degradation?  Who 
is  the  Calif  omian  who  is  not  indignant  and  will  not  rise  in  arms  to 
destroy  our  oppressors? 

"We  cannot  believe  that  there  is  one  so  vile  and  so  cowardly. 

"Awake!  Sons  of  the  Land!  To  arms,  and  the  blessing  of 
Heaven  will  smile  on  your  brave  efforts  for  liberty." 


"SONS  OP  THE  LAND,  AWAKE!*'    ,37 

/^  xie  read,  his  fine,  youthful  face  flushed  with 
emotion,  his  clear  voice  rose  at  the  end  into  a 
triumphant  ring. 

But  there  was  no  responsive  glow  in  the  coun- 
tenances of  his  two  companions.    A  strange  group 
they  were,  standing  beneath  the  twisted  sycamores 
through  which  the  sun  shot  golden  splotches  on 
the  grass.    Palera,   quivering  with  enthusiasm, 
the  other  two  calm  and  watchful,  each  playing 
at  cross  purposes— MacNamara  supremely  sure 
that  he  was  using  them  both  as  pawns  in  the 
great  game  he  was  playing  for  the  winning  of  an 
empire;  Vanuela  taciturn  and  somber,  impassive 
as  an  Indian,  but  inwardly  amused,  for  he  too 
was  playing  a  game,  not  for  an  empire,  but  for 
the  feedmg  fat  of  an  ancient  grudge. 

"Grand  words,  my  Servolo— a  ringing  procla- 
mation.   My   congratulations   are    thine,"   and 
MacNamara  shook  Servolo's  hand  with  a  fine 
show  of  admiration.     As  Vanuela  foUowed  the 
example  of  the  Englishman  he  caught  the  latter's 
sidewise  glance  and  noted  the  sly  droop  of  his 
eyelid,  but  refused  to  smile,  and  met  the  secret 
agent's  wink  with  a  cool  stare. 
^^  "Make  for  me  a  copy,"  Hugo  said  to  Palera, 
and  I  will  bring  it  before  the  meeting  of  the  Dons 
this  evening." 

At  the  pueblo  GiUie  had  abandoned  any  attempt 
to  police  the  town,  fearing  that  his  men  would  be 


,#-• 


ia8  THE  DeNS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

shot  down  from  behind  cover.  And  Vanuela  had 
been  mistaken  when  he  said  that  the  men  left 
in  the  pueblo  were  doing  nothing.  Though  they 
had  been  released  early  in  the  morning,  they  had 
taken  no  part  in  the  wild,  scattering,  futile  attack 
at  midday.  But  they  were  desperate  men  who 
met  at  the  home  of  Don  Prancisco  de  la  Guerra 
that  evening — desperate,  outraged,  and  deter- 
mined. 

For  to  them  had  come  the  news  that  the  aged 
Don  Lugo  Yorba  was  dead.  His  kindly  heart,  that 
had  for  ninety  arid  Cal'fornia  simimers  'oeaten 
for  others,  had  giver  m/  under  the  sudden 
strain  of  the  midnight  arrest  and  the  crushing 
shame  of  the  clanking  chains.  The  asperities 
of  Gillie's  rule,  the  killing  of  Ignado  Reyes,  the 
dozens  of  homes  that  were  now  scenes  of  heart- 
rending grief,  the  crowning  personal  ignominy 
of  the  shackles,  had  stirred  their  indolenv,  peace- 
loving  natures  to  a  pitch  of  exasperation,  and 
when  the  news  of  the  death  of  the  kindly,  much- 
loved  old  man  reache-^  them,  then  passed  the 
last  hope  of  their  peaceful  acceptance  of  Ameri- 
can rule. 

In  the  temperament  of  the  man  of  Spanish 
blood  there  is  much  of  the  tender  sentiment  of 
the  Celt,  but  more,  much  more,  of  the  pride  and 
dignity  of  the  ancient  Roman.  It  was  that 
which  the  ill-fated  Gillie  had  wotmded  beyond 


"SONS  OF  THE  LAND.  AWAK£!"    ,,9 

forgiveness,  in  that  wild  burst  of  wrath  when  he 
had  sent  Carroll  on  his  vengeful  errand. 

There  was  no  doubt,  no  hesitation,  no  division 
of  opinion  now.  The  Americans  had  shown  them- 
selves unfit  to  rule  a  civilized  people-as  unfit  as 
the  fierce  Yaquis  of  Sonora  or  the  wild  Apaches 
beyond  the  Colorado  River. 

The  Caiifomians  had  deemed  them  a  great 
nch,   clever,   and  magnanimous  nation,   though 
somewhat  cold  and  strange  in  their  ways.    But 
they  had  found  them  rude  in  their  speech,  uncouth 
in  manner,  utterly  unreasonable  and  incompre- 
hensible in  their  governing.     To  the  people  of 
the  pueblo  the  Americans  had  proved  themselves 
men  without  dignity,  without  politeness  of  word 
or  kindness  of  heart,  without  sense  of  justice  or 
consideration  for  old  age. 

True,  .  Dons  had  given  Stockton  their 
paroles,  but  had  not  Captain  Gillie  relieved  them 
from  all  obligation  by  breaking  the  one  unwritten 
condition-  that  their  persons  should  be  respected  ? 
Nothmg  was  there  left  for  men  of  spirit  and  honor 
but  to  fight.  And  the  short,  fierce  attack  at 
noonday  had  shown  them  that  the  common 
people  were  ready  to  follow- were  now  awaiting 
their  leadership.  * 

Then  came  Vanuela  to  the  council  when  they 
were  mentally,  at  least,  prepared  for  war.  Cahnly 
and  with  austere  dignity  they  listened  to  his 


130  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

message,  for  he  was  no  favorite  among  them.  As 
he  told  them,  in  a  few  short,  sharp  sentences  that, 
whether  they  would  or  no,  the  people  were  ready 
to  fight,  there  was  a  tinge  of  defiance,  something 
of  scorn  in  his  manner.  He  vvcis  gazing  into  their 
unfriendly  eyes.  God,  how  he  hated  them  all, 
from  the  princely  Arillo  at  the  head  of  the  table 
to  the  weazened  Alvaro  at  the  foot!  But  war 
must  make  them  comrades. 

"That  is  my  message,  caballeros — three  hun- 
dred men  under  arms,  by  the  Paredon  Bluff,  and 
here  is  their  voice,"  he  said,  as  he  read  the  proc- 
lamation. 

In  their  faces  was  a  vague  dissatisfaction.  This 
young  man,  Palera,  hardly  more  than  a  boy,  a 
maker  of  poems,  who  was  still  singing  at  the  win- 
dows of  the  girls,  had  launched  a  revolt  without 
even  consulting  the  great  ones  of  the  land.  There 
was  a  depressing  silence  in  the  room  when  Vanuela 
finished  the  last  words  of  Servolo's  appeal. 

"Por  Dios,"  said  Don  Augustin  Alvaro  to  Don 
Andreas  Pico,  "'the  young  Palera  writes  as  well 
as  he  sings." 

The  younger  brother  of  Governor  Pio  Pico 
was  a  slim  yoimg  man  Tvith  a  face  wonderfully 
fair  for  a  man  of  Spanish  blood.  Not  even  the 
gravity  of  the  occasion  had  driven  the  happy 
smile  from  a  coimtenance  that  was  full  of  good 
na4;ure  and  radiant  with  the  joy  of  life.    As  he 


"SONS  OP  THE  LAND.  AWAKEl"    131 

noted  Hugo's  air  of  truculent  assurance,  the 
merry  face  of  Don  Andreas  lit  up  with  half- 
scornful  amusement.  Leaning  toward  De  la 
Guerra,  he  whispered: 

"Ayer  vaquero 
Hoy  cabftllero."  > 

De  la  Guerra's  eyes  twinkled,  but  there  was 
no  levity  in  his  manner  as  his  cool  glance  met 
Vanuela's. 

"I  am  glad  to  be  able  to  tell  the  sefior,"  he 
said  with  hauteur,  "that  we  had  already  deter- 
mined on  resistance  before  his  message  arrived." 

Arillo,  who  had  been  stroking  his  beard  thought- 
fully, remarked  with  a  quiet,  half-humorous 
smile: 

"Friends,  friends,  let  us  now  be  frank.  It  is 
no  time  for  jealousies.  Truly,  young  blood  is 
always  hasty,  yet  who  wiU  say  that  this  is  not 
a  time  for  haste?  The  young  men  have  out- 
stripped us.  Let  us  rather  rejoice  at  that,  not 
regret  it— though  doubtless  we  would  have 
been  better  pleased  if  we  had  arranged  it  ourselves. 
But  we  could  not— most  of  us  being  in  chains." 

Spurred  on  by  the  knowledge  that  the  revolt 
was  no  longer  a  vague,  disorganized  outburst, 
and  that  there  was  an  armed  force  behind  them, 
they  acted  quickly.    Don  Jos6  Maria  Flores,  a 

^"Yjsterday  a  cowherder, 
To-day  a  gentleman." 


^a^im 


\{f-:fft 


, 


133    THE  D0NS  OF  THE  OLD  PXJEBLO 

captain  in  the  Mexican  army  who  had  seen 
much  service  in  the  wars  against  the  Yaquis,  and 
who  had  been  spending  his  furlough  in  California 
when  the  war  began,  was  chosen  commandant 
and  governor. 

Don  Jos6  Antonio  was  to  be  second  in  command, 
with  the  title  of  colonel.  Don  Andreas  Pico  and 
Don  Manuel  Garfias  were  appointed  by  Flores 
captains  of  the  two  squadrons  of  cavalry.  Don 
Augustin  Alvaro  was  to  be  "Capitan  Auxiliar" 
attached  to  the  staff  of  the  commandant.  Don 
Jesus  Pico,  a  cousin  of  Don  Andreas,  was  to 
leave  in  the  morning  for  San  Luis  Obispo,  while 
Garfias  would  ride  at  once  to  Santa  Barbara, 
bearing  news  of  the  revolt.  Before  evening  fell, 
countless  couriers  were  sent  galloping  through 
the  adjacent  country  to  spread  the  alarm  to  the 
ranches. 

Gut  to  the  encampment  by  the  Paredon  Bluff 
rode  Flores  and  Arillo.  They  were  received  with 
wild  acclaim,  and  with  full  accord  of  all  they 
assumed  command.  Seryolo  Palera  was  appointed 
brevet  captain,  and  dispatched  with  eighty  men 
toward  the  Cucamonga  Cafion  for  the  purpose 
of  capturing  Benito  Willard  and  his  militia 
company. 

The  ringing  words  of  Palera  were  answered. 
The  Hijos  del  pais  were  awake  at  last. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

THE   BLACK  MATADOR 

lyi  ANUEL  ARILLO  had  just  finished  oiling  the 
-^^•''  lock  of  a  battered  old  fowling  piece,  and 
he  loolfed  at  it  lovingly  as  he  held  it  with  out- 
stretched arm. 

"Por  Dios,"  he  said,  "though  old,  it  is  stiU  a 
good  gun,  Bost  thou  think,  my  Jos6,  that  father 
wiU  let  us  go  to  fight  the  Americans  when  the 
time  comes?" 

They  were  seated  on  the  broad  veranda  that 
bordered  the  three  sides  of  the  garden  behind 
the  Arillo  home.  Lithe  and  vigorous  were  the 
boys,  with  the  clear  eyes  and  well-knit  frames 
that  told  of  life  in  the  open  r.  i  long  hours  in  the 
saddle. 

Jos6  turned  his  slow,  gray  eyes  away  from  the 
distant  ridges,  and  with  a  quick,  awakening 
motion  brushed  back  the  heavy  lock  of  red  hair 
from  his  forehead. 

"That  I  cannot  tell,  Manuel,  bu*;  Senor  De  la 
Guerra  said  only  last  night,  even  in  this  very 
house,  that  every  one  between  the  ages  of  sixteen 
and  sixty  would  be  called  to  go." 

"The  saints  grant  that  he  speke  truly."  As 
Manuel  wiped  the  oil  from  his  soiled  fingers 
his  sharp  glance  noted  the  other's  moody  and 

133 


i\ 


134    THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 


distraught  air.     His  countenance  lighted  with 
mischievous  merriment. 

"Thinking  again,  Jos6?  Thou  wilt  tire  that 
fine  red  head  of  thine  with  overmuch  work.  Is 
it  Delfina,  or  some  other  fair  lady,  that  brings 
that  far-away  look  into  thy  face?" 

Jos6  frowned,  but  the  frown  melted  into  a  smile. 

"No,  no,  Manuel;  I  have  been  thinking— of 
what  I  can  remember." 

"Was  it  that  sent  thee  wandering  in  thy  night 
garb  in  the  plaza  last  night?"  he  teased.  Then 
Manuel's  bantering  air  suddenly  vanished,  and 
in  his  voice  there  was  much  of  sympathy  as  he 
added  quickly: 

"I  do  not  -wonder  that  it  makes  thee  sad. 
Tell  me  again,  if  thou  wilt,  what  thou  canst 
remember  of  the  days  of  thy  babyhood." 

After  a  moment's  thought,  Jos6  answered  slowly : 
'"Tis  little  enough,  and  I  cannot  remember 
whether  or  no  much  of  what  comes  to  me  be 
dreams,  or  in  truth  memories. 

"I  remember,"  he  said  hesitatingly,  as  if  not 
sure  of  his  groimd,  "a  house  in  a  narrow  street 
where/  donkeys  with  loads  of  wood  on  either 
side  of  their  backs  passed  each  day.  In  a  large 
room  in  front,  at  a  desk  with  many  papers,  there 
sat  a  man — my  father,  I  think.  There  was  a 
lady.  She  was  my  mother,  I'm  sure,  for  she 
used  to  kiss  me  at  night.    That  is  what  comes 


THE  BLACK  MATADOR  135 

to  me  at  the  very  first,  but  it  is  all  very  dim,  and 
perhaps  is  only  what  I  have  dreamed,  for  of 
those  two  I  have  dreamed  often.  Be  they  true 
memories  or  but  dreams,  I  fear  I  shall  never 
know,"  and  he  sighed  softly. 

"But  plamly,  very  plainly,  do  I  remember  one 
night  in  the  street.    I  was  running  in  much  fear, 
from  what  I  do  not  know.    Around  me  were 
others  in  the  dark,  running  wildly  as  well.    Of 
that  I  am  sure.    That  is  not  a  dream." 
"How  old  wert  thou,  Jos6?" 
"I  cannot  say,  but  very,  very  small.    After 
that  it  was  all  indistinct  again.    I  was  with  the 
Indians  in  the  mountains,  in  their  brush  huts, 
and  again  often  with  them  by  the  seashore,  for 
in  that  land  the  mountains  came  down  close  to 
the  sea;    One  day,  when  playing  in  a  boat  in  a 
sheltered  bay,  the  wind  carried  me  out  on  the 
wide  water,  and,  tired  and  hungry,  I  slept.    How 
long  I  slept  I  know  not,  but  when  I  awoke  J  was 
in  a  ship  with  many  sailors;  then  for  many  days 
and  nights  I  lay  sick,   near  imto  death.    The 
captain  was  kind  to  me,  not  like  to  some  other 
captains  aftenvards;  but  he  died— drowned  one 
night  when  our  ship  went  ashore,  and  all  but  four 
of  the  sailors  were  drowned  with  him." 

"And  those?"  Manuel  had  heard  the  tale  from 
Jos6's  lips  a  hundred  times,  but  for  him  it  had 
never  lost  its  fascination. 


136  THE  DONS  ©P  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

Jos6  placed  his  hands  over  his  eyes,  and  his 
shoulders  shook  in  a  little  shiver.  "Some  brown 
men  like  negroes  killed  them  with  clubs  and  ate 
them^  and  me,  too,  they  would  have  killed  in 
time,  but  that  another  captain  bought  me  with 
a  roll  of  red  cloth  from  a  man  with  a  ring  in  his 
nose  and  marks  on  his  face  and  chest.  And 
with  that  captain  I  stayed  until  he  beat  me, 
and  then  I  ran  away  to  another  ship  in  the  port 
of  Mazatlan  in  Mexico.  And  always  have  I 
been  *Jos6';  nothing  but  7os6.'  The  rest  you 
know,  Manuel." 

The  boy  nodded.  Often  had  he  heard  his 
father  tell  of  the  furious  storm  ten  years  before 
that  had  driven  a  strange  bark  on  the  rocky 
point  near  San  Pedro,  and  of  how  he  had  ordered 
his  Indif  ns  and  vaqueros  to  bury  the  drowned 
sailors  in  the  sands  of  the  sea  beach.  But  the 
heart  of  one,  a  boy  of  eight,  was  still  beating,  and 
they  brought  him  to  life,  warming  him  over  a 
fire  of  driftwood  and  pouring  strong,  hot  drinks 
down  his  throat,  for  it  was  a  chill  December  day. 
Don  Jos6  Antonio's  kindly  heart  went  out  to 
the  homeless  lad,  and  he  had  taken  him  to  his 
own  home,  where  they  had  all  learned  to  love 
him  as  their  very  own. 

Spanish  he  spoke,  but  of  a  strange  sort,  with 
many  unintelligible  words  that,  as  the  years 
went  on,  he  forgot.    "Jose  el  Rufo  Qoseph  the 


THE  BLACK  MATADOR  137 

^^^f^ii  »^^?  "^"^  ^  ^"  "^^"^^  than 
Jos6  Anllo."    Josh's   hair   was  red   with   the 

redne^  of  fire,  at  which  the  people  of  the  pueblo 
inarveled  greatly.  His  was  the  only  red  head  in 
all  Los  Angeles. 

That  he  was  not  of  Spanish  blood  the  sefiora 
always  maintained,  for  though  he  was  quick  of 
thought  he  was  chary  of  sudden  speech  and  slow 
of  anger,  and  there  brooded  in  his  face  a  wistful 
me  ancholy  and  the  look  of  one  who  was  ever 
seeking  to  grasp,   with  the  grip  of  the  mind, 
somethmg  that  eluded  him. 
j'Most  often  of  all,  Manuel,"  he  continued, 
does  there  come  to  me  the  dream  of  my  father 
at  his  desk,  with  the  flag  spread  on  the  wall 
behmd  him.    His  face  I  can  see  plainly,  but  the 
flag  not  so.    And  he  always  looks  at  me.  so 
.^traight.  and  when  I  rush  to  him  I  always  wake 
Last  mght  I  dreamed  of  him  so.    But  sometime  — 
sometune  I  am  sure.  Manuel,—  I  know  not  why 
but  still  am  I  certain  that  I  shall  reach  him,  and 
that  time  I  shaU  not  wake.    I  beUeve  he  stiU 
hves. 

"Why  thinkest  thou  so?" 

'•Because  always,  always,  I  come  to  him  a 
httle  nearer,  to  where  he  sits  at  the  table,  his 
pen  m  his  hand,  and  the  flag  outspread  behind 
his  head.  For  he  knows  me.  Manuel.  I  can  see 
It  m  the  glad  look  in  his  face,  and  often  he 


pi   ^ 


138  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

rises  a  little  in  his  chair.    And  then  I  wake," 
he  added  moumftiUy 

Jos6  had  acquired  much  of  the  fine  idealism  of 
the  cultured  family  that  had  raised  him,  and  it 
added  greatly  to  his  prepossessing  personality. 

"Yi,  yi,  Jos6,  do  not  think  of  it  so  much  if  it 
makes  thee  sad.  I  do  not  think  of  sad  things, 
and  so  am  ever  happy,"  and  Manuel's  white  teeth 
showed  in  a  sweet  smile  in  which  there  was  all  the 
glad  irresponsibility  of  youth. 

As  Manuel,  whistling  cheerily,  gun  in  hand, 
left  the  veranda,  a  yoimg  woman  stepped  from 
one  of  the  rooms  of  the  east  wing.  It  was 
Delfina,  an  orphan  girl  who,  as  a  motherless 
babe,  had  been  adopted  by  the  seiiora.  She  was 
small  and  pretty,  with  a  pert  face,  and  her  merry, 
saucy  eyes,  as  they  met  Jos6's,  brought  a  glad 
radiance  to  the  boy's  face. 

"Come  sit  by  me,  Delfina;  I  have  something 
to  say  to  thee." 

She  took  her  seat  on  the  end  of  the  bench,  and 
drawing  some  lacework  from  the  little  bag  at  her 
waist,  said  wamingly: 

Keep  thy  distance,  Jos6.    The  senora  may  see 
us." 

"May  I  not  speak  to  Don  Jos6  Antonio  to- 
night, Delfina?" 

"Ah,  yi,  yi,  but  you  are  a  foolish  boy  to  pester 
Don  Jos6  Antonio  when  his  mind  is  full  of  the 


THE  BLACK  MATADOR  139 

great  affairs  of  the  land.    Truly  thou  art.  after 
all,  but  a  boy." 

"A  boy!"  Jose  protested  indignantly.  "I  am 
as  taU  as  the  Don  himself,  and  two  fingers  taller 
than  Manuel." 

"Thou  art  but  seventeen — " 
''But  near  to  eighteen,"  he  protested. 
"WeU,  but  eighteen  then,  though  big  for  thy 
age.  But,  Santa  Madre,  it  would  be  madness  to 
talk  to  the  Don  when  there  is  shooting  and  killing 
m  the  town.  Do  you  note  how  he  frowns  aU 
day,  and  speaks  but  little?" 

As  she  scanned  Jos6's  face  with  quick,  sidewise 
glances  the  mischief  sparkled  in  her  eyes  and 
dimpled  her  cheeks. 

"Those  who  are  truly  men,"  she  teased,  "are 
not  now  sitting  at  the  feet  of  their  ladies,  sighing 
like  the  wind  in  the  trees.  They  are  yonder,  by 
the  Paredon  Bluff,  with  arms  in  their  hands 
advismg  as  to  the  best  way  to  wrest  the  land 
from  the  Americans." 

Her  dexterous  white  fingers  wrought  busily 
with  the  lace,  but  while  her  tone  and  manner 
were  maddening,  there  was  a  gleam  of  pride  in 
her  dark  face  as  she  measured  with  her  eye  the 
breadth  of  the  boy's  shoulders  and  marked  his 
downcast  looks.  He  was  truly  a  dear  boy,  but 
it  was  rare  sport  to  see  him  frown  so  mightily  to 
have  him  rumple  his  red  hair  until  it  stood'on 


140    THE  D©NS  OP  THE  OLD  PXJEBLO 

end,  and  to  have  his  big  gray  eyes  turned  up  to 
her,  pathetically  beseeching. 

"Go  to  the  war,  and  get  thyself  a  name,  a 
great  name,"  she  added  teasingly,  "and  then, 
perchance,  the  Don  will  listen  to  thee." 

Jos6's  face  flared  red  as  his  bristling  lodes,  and 
his  mouth  grew  tight.  True,  he  had  no  name. 
Or  if  he  had,  he  knew  it  not.  The  girl's  words 
were  idle,  thoughtless,  but  they  had  wounded  him 
deeply. 

"As  you  bid  me,  I  will  go.  Delfina,  if  the 
Don  will  let  me."  He  rose  to  his  feet,  and  stood 
looking  at  her  for  a  moment,  his  face  pale  now 
and  his  lip  quivering  a  little. 

"Yes,  I  will  go  and  find  myself  a  name,  or — I 
shall  not  come  back." 

Sefiora  Arillo  appeared  suddenly  on  the 
threshold,  and  her  eyes  scrutinized  them  suspi- 
ciously. 

"Delfina,  it  is  time  the  chickens  were  fed. 
Jos6,  find  Mariano,  and  send  him  to  me." 

As  the  woman  sat  alone  on  the  veranda  over- 
looking the  garden,  her  fingers  nervously  tapping 
her  knee  and  plaiting  the  stuff  of  her  skirt  back- 
ward and  forward,  her  eyes  again  sought  the  far 
comer  where  the  roses  bloomed.  From  the  sat- 
isfied smile  on  her  handsome,  mature  face  i!,  was 
plain  that  her  thoughts  were  happy. 

"It  belonged  to  the  church,  and  to  the  church 


THE  BLACK  MATADOR 


i4t 


It  shaU  return  when  the  war  is  over.    Not  a 
heretic  hand  shaU  touch  it."  she  murmured. 

The  sudden  outburst  of  hostilities  had  brought 
h  tie  terror  to  the  soul  of  Setlora  AriUo.  TOh 
silent  mdignation  she  had  watched  the  flight  of 
Pico  and  Castro  and  the  tame  acceptance  of 
Amencan  rule  by  the  men  of  the  puebfo.  Now 
in  the  blmd  sincerity  of  her  primitive  faith   the 

tSr'  'V!;'  ''^''''  "-  ^-^  ^^«  --er 
she  W         ^^^^^^r^^d  t°  the  endless  petitions 
^e  had  poured  forth  at  the  feet  of  the  Virgin 
Woman-hke   she  flinched  at  the  thought  of  her 

batt'"l?1,'^'.'^^^  ^  *^«  deadly 'tumiito 
battle^  but  her  firm  faith  upheld  her.    Surely 
the  Virgm   and   the  saints,   who  had   already 
answered  her  prayers,   would  not  forsake  her 
then.    As  for  the  young  American  who  had  so 
ckverly  won  the  high  regard  of  her  husband  and 
the  love  of  her  daughter,  he  was  certainly  a  fine 
young  man  but  he  was  doubtless  like  other  men. 
and  could  forget.    If  he  did  come  back  afte; 
the  war  was  over-well,  that  was  a  problem  that 
could  be  settled  when  it  arrived,  if  it  ever^d 

Mariano,  a  thick-set,  roughly-clad,  brown-fa^d 
man  m  whose  high  cheekbones  showed  something 

from  ^h^otr^^^^^  "°^^^  ^^  ''^  ^-^-  ^^' 
dei^^i^r"    "'*   '"   "'•"    '^   ^^^ 

10 


li.-. 


143  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 


"When  do  they  attack  the  Americans  again, 
Mariano?" 

"That  I  cannot  say,  sefiora,  but  I  think  to- 
morrow night." 

She  glanced  aroimd  her,  and  stepping  to  the 
door  looked  within,  but  there  was  no  one  in  sight. 

* '  Attend  closely,  Mariano.  Have  ready  shovels, 
picks,  and  ropes.  We  will  dig  it  up  and  deliver 
it  to  the  Commandant  Flores  after  the  next 
attack.  Have  also  a  carreta  and  oxen  close  at 
hand.    Now,  remember,  not  a  word  to  any  one." 

Mariano  nodded  his  black  head  comprehend- 
ingly,  and  as  he  twirled  the  rim  of  his  big  sombrero 
over  and  over  in  his  gnarled  hands,  there  was 
grim  satisfaction  in  his  otherwise  stupid  face. 

All  the  long  day  had  Loreto  kept  her  room, 
appearing  only  at  meals,  with  a  face  so  woefully 
swollen  with  tears  that  the  Don  had  taken  her 
little  chin  in  his  hand  and  said,  in  his  strong,  calm 
way: 

"Mary  and  the  angels  protect  thee,  but  it  is  a 
heavy  burden  for  thy  young  shoulders  to  carry. 
Ask  thy  patron  saint  to  make  it  come  right  in  the 
end,  child." 

"Do  not  sorrow  so,"  said  her  mother,  when 
Don  Jos6  Antonio  had  lef  the  house.  "Thinkest 
thou  there  are  not  other  men  in  the  world?  Yi, 
yi,  when  the  war  is  over,  and  a  new  governor 
comes  from  Mexico  with  many  fine  young  officers 


THE  BLACK  MATADOR  ,43 

in  hia  train  in  gold  lace  and  nodding  plumes, 
Jttle  wilt  thou  think  of  the  American  ThouS 
I  cannot  deny,"  she  added,  "that  I  like  him  far 
better  than  I  like  his  country." 

Loreto  turned  on  her  mother  a  slow,  wondering 
gaze.  Mid  her  hps  trembled  for  a  moment,  but  she 
lo>/ered  her  eyes  and  remained   silent.    Sleeo 
came  not  to  her  that  night.    With  all  the  mad- 
demng  clearness  of  midnight  impression  there 
thronged  on  her  the  scenes  of  the  night  before  - 
her  father  struggling,  enwrapped  in  the  arlns 
of  the  marine,  the  horror  of  the  chains,  the  cold, 
set  face  of  Carroll,  the  appeal  in  his  voice  as  he 
turned  to  her.  and.  clearest  of  all.  her  own  cruel 
words. 

.r.V't  ^u  ^^"^  ^""^  °^  ^^  ^^  ^^  passed, 
and  her  heart  was  now  pleading  for  him.    It 

was  the  orders  of  Captain  Gillie.    What  could 
he  have  done  but  obey.?    With  something  akin 
to  a  shock,  she  realized  for  the  first  time  that 
he  too  murt  be  suffering,  and  a  great  longing 
possessed  her  to  recaU  her  bitter  words.    If  she 
could  only  let  him  know  that,  come  what  might, 
she  was  his  and  his  alone!    But  there  was  no 
way;  between  herself  and  the  worn-eyed,  heavy- 
hearted  man  in  the  stockade  only  a  few  hundred 
yards  away,  heavy,  black,  and  impenetrable  lay 
the  shadow  of  the  sword. 
Kneeling  at  the  barred  window,  she  gazed  out 


xll 


■}- 


X44  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

at  the  black  sky  pttlsating  with  living,  scintillating 
stars.  She  would  ask  for  divine  assistance,  ask 
that  in  some  way,  somehow,  there  shottld  be 
sent  to  him  the  knowledge  that  she  no  longer 
blamed  him  for  the  deeds  of  the  night  before. 
Slowly  the  beads  slipped  through  her  fingers, 
and  as  she  finished  she  laid  her  ft  "f^rcd  brow  on 
the  cool  windowsill,  and  whit;v)^red  into  the 
darkness. 

"Oh,  Mary,  Mother  of  Sorrows,  tell  him,  put 
it  in  his  heart  and  in  his  mind,  that  I  still  love 
him.    Protect  him,  and  save  him  from  all  harm." 

From  be-  jnd  the  plaza  came  shrill  yells,  and 
an  out>/4i  St  of  firing.  The  beads  dropped  from 
her  fingers  to  the  floor,  and  she  wept  piteously. 

"Child,"  came  a  whisper  from  the  darkness,  a 
whisper  singularly  soft  and  clear,  "thy  prayer  is 
heard.  What  message  didst  thou  wish  to  send 
the  American?" 

Close  to  the  bars  the  figure  of  a  man  loomed 
faintly  in  the  darkness.  Her  heart  stood  still, 
while  a  wave  of  terror  swept  over  her,  paralyzing 
her  to  the  very  roots  of  her  hair,  and  numbing 
her  finger  tips  in  its  icy  chill.  The  figure  wore 
an  old-fashioned  hat,  flat  and  round;  the  face  was 
covered  with  a  comer  of  the  cloak.  There  could 
be  no  mistake — it  was  the  Black  Matador! 
Her  limbs  were  giving  way  beneath  her,  and 
she  felt  herself  sinking  to  the  floor. 


THE  BLACK  MA'lADOR  ,45 

"Quid,"  came  the  voice  again,  gently  reassur- 
ing, have  no  fear.  I  have  been  sent  to  help 
thee,  not  to  haitn  thee.  What  message  wilt  thou 
send  to  the  American?    I  am  a  fiiend." 

Was  it  a  dream,  or  was  she  mad  ?    Was  the  dim 
shape  before  her,  that  darker  spot  in  the  obs<narity 
but  a  vision  of  her  own  disordered  fancy  ?    A  call 
would  bring  her  mother  and  the  servants  rushing 
mto  the  room. 

"Make  no  sound—do  not  call— the  Black 
Matador  sorrows  for  those  who  sorrow,  but  he 
serves  only  those  who  will  it.  If  I  go  from  thee 
empty-handed  now,  I  cannot  come  again  'Tis 
mwtal  sin  to  scorn  the  help  that  Heaven  sends." 

To  her  fadmg  senses  the  voice  seemed  far-off 
and  unreal,  but  there  was  in  it  a  gencleness  that 
stilled  her  fears.  She  crossed  herseL'  thrice,  and 
felt  assured  that  no  bodily  harm  could  assail  her. 

Quickly  as  it  had  come,  her  terror  fled.  Be  it 
ghost,  man,  or  devil,  she  would  not  scorn  his  aid. 
There  was  no  hesitation  now.  Fumbling  with 
quivering  fingers  in  the  darkness,  she  found 
the  quiU  pen  and  wrote  quickly  on  the  flylerf  of 
her  prayer  book: 

"I  meant  not  what  I  said.    I  love  thee. 

"LORETO." 

Again  she  crossed  herself  thrice,  and  passed  the 
missive  out  into  the  darkness.     Icy  cold  were 


m. 


Y' 


ww??:^ 


M6  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

the  fingers  that  met  hers.  At  the  ghostly  touch 
she  lost  her  courage,  and  swoone,!  Prom  beyond 
the  plaza  the  guns  spluttered  agaLi  for  a  moment, 
and  died  away.  Out  in  the  open  there  was  only 
darkness. 

Came  morning.  The  girl  opened  her  eyes, 
and  smiled  at  the  strangeness  of  her  fancied 
midnight  vision.  In  vain  she  tried  to  shake  off 
the  impression.  As  she  knelt  in  her  nightrobe  to 
pray,  she  saw  on  the  floor  a  folded  paper,  white 
and  glaring  in  the  gray  Ught  of  the  dawn.  Round- 
eyed,  she  stared  at  it,  wondering,  fearing.  Then, 
with  trembling  fingers,  she  opened  it  and  read: 

"Thy  message  has  made  me  happy.  Be 
confident.    All  will  come  right  in  the  end. 

"Jack." 

As  the  conviction  grew  upon  her  that  the 
experience  of  the  night  was  no  dream,  and  that 
her  dark-garbed  visitor  was  none  other  than  the 
Black  Matador,  serving  her  in  obedience  to  a 
higher  power,  she  trembled  again  with  the  over- 
powering fear  of  the  imknown. 

And  yet  it  was  not  so  strange.  Por  were  not 
the  books  Father  Estenaga  at  the  Plaza  Church 
had  given  her  to  read  full  of  wondrous  tales  of 
prayers  heard  and  favors  granted?  Was  not  God 
as  powerful  and  the  Virgin  as  kind  and  loving 
now  as  then? 


THE  BLACK  MATADOR  ,47 

Filled  with  the  simple,  childlike  faith  of  the 
Spanish  woman  she  fell  on  her  knees  and  poured 
forth  her  soul  m  thanks.  And  in  her  fa^,  no 
^ger  sorrowful,  was  a  Hght  that  caused  the 
seflora  to  wonder  and  Delfina  to  cross  herself 
m  awe. 


m 


*u 


3» 


CHAPTER  XV 

THE   captain's  DEFIANCE 

'pHROUGH  their  field  glasses  the  American 
•■•  oflBcers  had  witnessed  the  wild  scurry  of  the 
fugitives  across  the  stream,  but  they  knew  nothing 
of  the  rendezvous  behind  the  Paredon  Bluff. 
Several  roads  led  to  the  ravine,  one  skirting  the 
river  bank,  others  over  the  neighboring  hills, 
and  as  the  horsemen  disappeared  in  various 
directions  the  Americans  h^tily  concluded  that 
they  were  seeking  safety  at  the  distant  ranchos. 

"Naw,"  Marshall  was  saying,  "them  fellows 
ain't  quit,  not  by  a  long  shot.  Ther-i're  just 
gettin'  their  second  wind." 

Ignoring  the  bantering  remarks  of  his  comrades, 
he  spent  the  afternoon  at  work  on  the  cannon, 
both  of  which  he  had  now  motmted  on  carreta 
wheels,  tying  them  securely  in  place  with  rawhide 
riatas.  In  spite  of  his  industrious  hammering 
he  had  not  as  yet  been  able  to  remove  the  spiking 
from  the  vent  holes. 

It  was  nearing  midnight  when  the  frontiersman 
on  guard  at  the  east  gate  detected  subdued  sounds 
close  at  hand  in  the  darkness.  Then  came  the 
soft  shuflSing  of  feet  on  the  sand,  and  the  heavy 
breathing  of  burdened  men.  As  he  leaned  over 
the  wall,  his  eyes  and  ears  strained  to  utmost 

148 


THE  CAPTAIN'S  DEFIANCE        149 

tension,  a  wild  chorus  of  yells  came  from  below, 
and  the  timbers  of  the  gate  bent  and  creaked 
under  the  impact  of  a  heavy  blow.  But  well 
had  Marshall  done  his  work.  The  gate  stood  fast. 
The  men  on  duty,  seated  on  the  verandas  or 
sprawling  half  asleep  in  the  sand,  rushed  to  their 
posts,  and  with  a  volleying  roar  a  long  line  of 
thin  spitting  streaks  of  flame  burst  from  the 
wall.  In  the  momentary  flash  was  revealed  a 
huddled  mass  of  men  ranged  along  both  sides  of 
a  heavy  log.  Cries  of  pain  and  dismay  were 
followed  by  the  swift  patter  of  running  feet,  and 
the  hush  of  night  again  fell  on  the  stockade. 

Carroll  took  charge  at  midnight,  relieving 
Lieutenant  Somers  and  his  men.  As  he  restlessly 
paced  the  sandy  floor  of  the  stockade,  the  unhappy 
man  longed  vainly  for  the  power  to  read  the 
future.  But  a  few  hours  ago  his  whole  life  was 
bright  with  a  glad  radiance,  whose  glory  seemed 
to  stretch  down  the  coming  years,  and  now  the 
future  seemed  as  dark  and  gloomy  as  the  inky 
sky  above  him. 

Vividly  she  flashed  on  his  memory  as  he  had 
seen  her  that  Sunday  morning  in  the  church,  and 
the  night  when  he  had  saved  her  from  the  drunken 
straggler  in  the  plaza.  But  last  of  all,  burned 
in  his  brain  the  memory  of  the  deadly  pallor  of 
her  face  as  her  lips  hissed  the  words  that  forever 
cut  him  out  of  her  life.    WeU  he  knew  the  strength 


t. 


ISO    THE  DONS  OF  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 


M 


of  family  ties  among  people  of  Spanish  blood,  the 
reverence  that  is  paid  to  the  father  as  the  head  of 
the  household,  the  deep  sense  of  personal  dignity, 
and  his  heart  ached  within  Um.  Awed  and 
wondering,  he  recalled  the  warning  words  of  the 
Indian  woman: 

"The  great  hearts  thou  reverest  shall  be 
humbled.  Friendship  shall  walk  in  clanking 
chains.  Thy  heart  shall  be  crushed  as  by  a 
stone." 

From  the  west  gate  came  the  sound  of  excited 
whispers,  and  after  Carroll  had  stood  listening 
attentively  for  a  moment,  he  strode  over  to  the 
wall. 

"Step  up  here,  lieutenant,"  whispered  a  marine. 
"See  if  you  can  see  anything  down  there.  Brooks 
says  there  is  something  moving,  close  to  the  gate. 
Look!  Right  down  there!"  He  covered  the 
spot  with  his  rifle.    "Say  the  word,  and  I  '11  fire." 

"Sefior,  do  not  fire,"  came  from  the  darkness 
a  mtiffled  voiaj  in  Spanish.  "I  mean  no  harm. 
I  wish  only  to  deliver  a  message." 

"Keep  him  covered,  Carruthers.  Now,  who 
are  you?  Do  you  come  from  the  enemy?  Have 
you  a  communication  for  the  commanding  officer?" 
asked  Can^oll. 

"I  have  a  note  for  Lieutenant  Carroll." 

Out  of  the  black  reek  in  front  of  the  Americans 
rose  a  slender  rod,  a  white  paper  folded  around 


THE  CAPTAIN'S  DEFIANCE        151 

its  end.    As  the  Heutenant  reached  for  it,  his 
fingers  trembled  with  excitement. 

"Stay  where  you  are,  down  there,"  he  said  in 
Spanish.  "Not  a  movement,  or  you  will  be 
fired  on."  Then  to  the  marines:  "Both  of  you 
keep  him  covered,  and  fire  at  the  least  move." 

With  wildly  beating  heart,  CarroU  hurried  into 
the  building  and  held  Loreto's  note  close  to  the 
candle  flame.  And  as  he  refolded  it  and  placed 
it  in  his  wallet,  his  eyes  were  moist  with  joy. 
Hastily  scribbling  an  answer,  he  returned  to  the 
wall. 

"Can  you  return  an  answer? "  he  whispered  into 
the  darkness. 

"I  can."  And  then,  as  Carroll  reached  down 
the  rod,  "I  have  it.  Adios,  sefior,"  and  he  was 
gone. 

The  marine  giggled.  "I  reckon  the  lieutenant 
has  a  girl  among  the  greasers,"  he  drawled. 

"None  of  your  business  if  he  has,"  snarled  a 
frontiersman.  "He's  aU  right,  even  if  he  has  a 
dozen." 

Carroll  paced  again  the  long,  dark  veranda 
during  the  quiet  hours  till  morning.  Who  could 
the  message  bearer  be?  He  thought  of  Jos6,  of 
Manuel,  but  neither  of  them  would  have  under- 
taken such  a  dangerous  errand;  and  the  voice 
of  the  stranger  was  one  he  believed  he  had  never 
before  heard. 


I 


152  THE  DONS  OF  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

A  scrambling,  sliding  sound  on  the  roof  above 
caused  the  lieutenant  to  halt  suddenly,  walk  down 
the  steps,  and,  pistol  in  hand,  gaze  up  at  the 
sloping  roof. 

"Don't  shoot,"  came  a  low  voice,  from  the 
darker  blot  of  shadow  on  the  edge.  "Look  out 
below — I'm  comin'  down." 

A  man  slid  to  the  groimd,  landing  cat-like  on 
his  feet.  Jim  Marshall,  as  he  picked  up  his  hat 
and  replaced  it  on  his  head,  was  grinning  half< 
apologetically  at  the  officer. 

"Marshall,"  said  Carroll  in  a  stem  tone,  "have 
you  a  leave  of  absence  from  the  captain?" 

The  frontiersman  shook  his  head. 

"This  passes  all  patience, —  absent  from  the 
post  at  such  a  time  as  this!"  continued  the 
lieutenant.  "Three  times  this  month  you  have 
been  absent  without  leave.  You  are  under 
arrest.  Brooks,  place  the  prisoner  in  the  guard- 
house. The  captain  will  dispose  of  his  case  in 
the  morning." 

Marshall  raised  his  hand  respectfully  to  his 
hat  brim. 

"AU  right,  all  right,  Ueutenant.  I  ain't  kickin' 
none,"  he  remarked,  as  he  followed  the  marine. 

Silently  the  gray  dawn  crept  over  the  eastern 
hills,  and  hardly  had  the  last  notes  of  the  morn- 
ing bugle  died  away  when  there  was  a  burst  of 
firing,  and  the  grumbling,  breakfastless  men  again 


THE  CAPTAIN'S  DEFIANCE        153 

rushed  to  their  positions,  the  frontiersmen  to  the 
roofs  and  the  marines  to  the  gates.  The  CaU- 
formans,  profiting  by  the  lesson  of  yesterday's 
attack,  had  carefuUy  concealed  themselves,  and 
not  a  marksman  could  be  seen,  though  the  bullets 
were  smgmg  above  the  stockade  and  kicking 
up  the  dust  in  the  open.  High  up  on  the  hiU 
spurts  of  smoke  broke  from  the  old  ramparts,  but- 
nothing  save  the  protruding  rifle  barrels  were 
visible. 

"I've  got  a  notion  to  put  a  bullet  into  one 
01  them  shuttered  windows,  just  to  get  even  " 
r^arked  a  disgusted  riflemen,  as  he  primed  his 

T^"^^u  rj^°  '^'  ^°"^''"  P«>tested  Jim 
Marshall,  who  had  been  released  when  the  attack 
beg^;  ye'd  probably  kill  a  woman  if  ye  did 
1 11  bet  they're  watchin'  this  show  through  the 
cra^.  Wait !  See  the  head  of  that  horse  sticking 
out  from  behind  that  adobe  ? " 

The  frontiersman  fired  as  he  spoke,  and  the 
animal,  with  an  agonizing  scream,  broke  its  tether 
sprang  mto  fuU  view,  and  rolled  over  in  the 
street.  A  marine,  close  to  Carroll  at  the  east 
gate,  gurgled  and  tottered  backward,  shot  through 
the  neck  With  his  hands  on  the  sand,  he  raised 
his  shoulders  from  the  ground,  a  look  of  agony 
on  his  face;  then  the  blood  spurted  in  a  red  streak 
from  his  throat.    A  moment  later  a  frontiersman 


*f 


154  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

drew  up  his  legs  with  a  groan,  and  rolled  slowly 
off  the  roof. 

The  Americans,  sobered  by  the  sudden  death 
of  two  of  their  number,  were  loading  rapidly, 
and  firing  deliberately  at  every  puff  of  smoke. 
There  was  none  of  the  idle  chaffing  of  yesterday, 
and  their  faces  wore  an  expression  of  tensest 
determination.  Not  for  nothing  had  MacNamara, 
the  evening  before,  impressed  upon  the  Cali- 
fomians  the  absolute  necessity  of  keeping  under 
cover  and  of  changing  their  positions  after  each 
shot.  They  were  obeying  his  suggestions  faith- 
fully, and  the  bullets  of  the  Americans,  though 
they  crashed  into  the  comers  of  the  buildings  and 
flicked  the  dust  from  the  tops  of  the  old  ramparts 
on  the  hill,  did  no  execution. 

"Flag  of  truce  coming  up  the  street,  captain," 
called  a  marine  from  the  east  gate. 

"Cease  firing,"  the  bugle  blared.  "Hold  your 
fire!"  called  Gillie.  "Keep  your  streets  covered 
from  the  gates,  but  admit  them." 

The  big  bars  crossing  the  east  gate  were 
laboriously  lifted,  and  as  it  yawned  open,  two 
Califomians  entered.  They  stepped  quickly  to 
the  center  of  the  stockade,  where  Gillie  awaited 
them,  his  sword  point  on  the  groimd,  his  hands 
clasped  over  the  hilt.  The  young  officer  in 
advance  of  the  white  flag  halted  a  few  feet  in 
front   of   the   American,    saluted,    and   brought 


THE  CAPTAIN'S  DEFIANCE        155 

his  heels  together  with  a  military  dick,  while 
his  sharp  eyes  swept  the  interior  of  the  stockade, 
the  mounted  guns,  the  two  bodies  on  the  ground, 
and  the  men  on  the  roofs. 

"Captain   GiUie?"   he   inquired   in   excellent 
English.    Gillie  nodded. 

"I  have  the  honor  to  make  a  formal  demand 
for  a  surrender  of  your  position." 
"What  terms  have  you  to  offer?" 
Along  the  roofs  were  seated  the  frontiersmen, 
f  acmg  the  inclosure,  their  knees  drawn  up  to  their 
chins,  their  heels  digging  into  the  slanting  roofs 
As  the  question  asked  by  the  captain  reached  their 
ears  there  was  a  unanimous  gasp  of  surprise, 
and  muttered  curses  ran  along  the  line  as  they 
looked  at  one  another. 

The  short-clipped  utterance  of  the  Califomian 
came  clearly  to  them  in  the  stillness. 

"You  will  haul  down  your  flag,  turn  over  your 
arms,  horses,  and  ammunition,  and  surrender 
yourselves  as  prisoners  of  war." 

Gillie  was  scanrJng  the  young  man's  face 
curiously. 

"Who  are  you,  anyway?"  he  asked  bluntly. 

"Don  Jos6  Maria  Flores,  in  command  of  the 
troops  now  serving  under  the  Mexican  fla*  in 
our  territory  of  Alta  California."  he  said  super- 
ahously,  as  he  twirled  his  curled  mustache  with 
a  nonchalant  air,  and  glared  haughtUy  at  Gillie. 


^li 


is6  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

"We  have  now  over  three  hundred  men  under 
arms,"  he  continued,  "and  in  a  few  days  it  will 
be  a  thousand.  Your  position  here  is  utterly 
untenable,  and  I  pledge  you  my  word  that  the 
persons  of  you  and  your  men  shall  be  unharmed. 
You  will  have  four  hours  to  consider  the  matter." 

"The  word  of  a  man  who  has  already  broken 
his  parole  of  honor  is  but  poor  security,"  said 
Gillie,  not  in  a  taunting  tone,  but  with  the  air  of 
one  stating  a  regretable  fact. 

Flores*  face  reddened.  "When  I  and  the 
others  gave  you  our  paroles.  Captain  Gillie," 
he  said,  not  without  a  certain  dignity,  "it  was 
with  the  understanding  that  our  persons  should 
be  respected.  How  the  promise  was  kept,  let 
the  story  of  two  nights  ago  tell.  You,  captain, 
were  the  first  to  break  the  terms  of  the  parole." 

"Jehosophat,"  .chuckled  MarshaU,  "listen  to 
that  now,  will  you?  He  certainly  landed  one  on 
the  captain  that  time.  There 's  more  than  a  grain 
of  truth  in  what  he  says." 

Gillie  was  silent,  pondering  in  his  slow  way 
the  last  words  of  Flores.  His  hand  wandered 
to  his  lower  lip.  Again  consternation  appeared 
in  the  faces  of  the  men  on  the  roof. 

"By  God,"  muttered  a  frontiersman  in  a  voice 
that  trembled  with  indignation,  "if  he's  going  to 
give  up  — " 

"Now  hold  your  horses,  Frank,"  warned  Jim 


THE  CAPTAIN'S  DEFIANCE        157 

MarshaU.    "Keep  cool-keep  cool.    ThecaDtain 
^^s^ral  lands  of  a  d^fool.  b^\??^ 

GilHe  smiled  in  his  twisted  way.    "You  are 

unnecessary.    I  can  answer  you  now." 
inen  you  surrender?" 
The  capt^  turned  and.  pointing  toward  the 

"  Ven  thar^/'  ''''  ^^"^  °'  ^^«  Wier^men! 
toT'sf  .  ^^^!^^  d°^."  he  said  in  a  louder 
Z^nr^  r?  *^°^' ''  wiU  not  be  taken  down  by 
American  hands.  Come  and  take  it  down  your- 
selves.   Our  answer  is~nol"  he  thunde,^.  "^ 

Wkh  W  ""•  ""  ^T^  ^^  '"^  °"  the  roof. 
With  hats  in  one  hand,  their  rifles  in  the  other 
they  cheered  him.  cheered  till  their  faces  were 
red.  cheered  till  their  voices  were  hoa,J.le^^ 

liV^l'ff'^^  '^°"«^  ^^'  exhaustb^ 
They  had  defied  him.  they  had  hated  him.  th"y 
imd  ignored  and  bn>ken  all  his  regula^ns  fS^ 
the  govemmg  of  the  post.  Most  of  them  had 
spent  long,  wea^  hours  in  confinement  by  his 
order.    They  knew,  m  their  careless  way.  that 

themlr"''5°''    ""'^  ^  ^'  managem^it  of 
them  and  m  his  relations  with  the  Califomians 
Among  themselves  they  had  cursed  him.  many  a 
tune,  fluently,  bitterly,  and  eloquently,  to  their 

word  he  had  come  to  his  own  again.    Hrwas 
u 


I? 


i 


158  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

their  leader— a  leader  they  would  follow  to  the 
very  gates  of  hell. 

The  two  Califomians  looked  up,  awed  by  the 
avalanche  oi  sound. 

"Permit  me,"  said  Flores  courteously,  "to 
congratulate  you  on  the  spirit  of  your  men.  It 
is  80  different  from  what  one  woujid  expect," 
he  added  maliciously.  "In  ten  minutes  we 
shall  resume  firing.  I  have  the  honor  to  bid 
you  good  day." 

He  saluted  stifHy  and.  with  his  companion, 
marched  out  the  stockade  gate. 


\ 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THB  RACE  FOR  THB  HILLTOP 

T^ON  JOSE  MARIA  FLORES,  commander  in 
chief  of  the  Californians,  was  a  ncry-^yed, 
handsome  man  of  thirty.  Grandik  r{uent  in 
speech,  pompous  in  manner,  he  was  nevertheless 
a  capable  and  courageous  officer. 

He  had  exaggerated  but  little  when  he  boar.trd 
to  Gillie  that  there  were  now  three  hundred 
Califomians  under  arms,  though  the  truth  was 
that  only  half  of  them  had  guns,  and  those,  old 
fowling  pieces.    The  rest  were  armed  with  lances 
made  by  fastening  a  steel  point  to  the  end  of  a 
ten-foot  willow  shaft.    Under  cover  of  night  the 
men  who  had  met  at  the  Paredon  Bluff  had  slipped 
silently  back  to  the  city,  leaving  their  horses  in 
charge  of  a  squad  at  the  river,  or  hidden  behind 
the  buildings.    When  the  assault  was  made  on  the 
stockade,  two  hundred  of  them  were  waiting  in  the 
darkness,  across  the  street,  ready  to  rush  the  gate 
had  it  given  way  before  the  battering  ram. 

"Bah,  it  is  nothing,"  said  MacNamara,  when 
the  news  of  the  repulse  reached  them.  "Recruits 
are  coming  in  every  hour  We  can  harass  the 
Americans  night  and  day,  till  they  will  have 
time  neither  to  sleep  nor  to  eat.    We  can  simply 

159 


m 
4 


II 


i 


Is 


i6o    THE  DONS  OF  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

tire  them  out."    And  this  was  the  plan  that  had 
been  adopted. 

In  an  old  deserted  adobe  near  the  river,  well 
protected  from  the  American  rifles  by  a  dense 
peach  orchard  located  on  a  rise  in  the  ground,  the 
Califomian  officers  had  established  headquarters. 
Here,  the  morning  after  the  attempt  to  ram  the 
gate,  they  were  holding  a  consultation.  All 
were  present  except  Arillo,  who  was  at  San  Gabriel 
searching  for  arms;  Servolo  Palera  and  Diego 
Septdveda,  who  had  left  at  svmrise  in  pursuit  of 
Willard's  company;  and  Vanuela,  who  was  riding 
the  coimtry  between  the  pueblo  and  the  sea, 
warning  the  rancheros  to  drive  their  cattle  away 
from  the  beach,  so  that  in  case  reinforce  u.j'nts 
for  Gillie  arrived  from  the  north  the  invaders 
would  find  no  means  of  sustenance  as  they  marched 
inland. 

From  where  they  sat  on  the  veranda  they  could 
see,  over  the  tops  of  the  peach  trees,  the  roimded 
summit  of  the  hill,  and  the  flagpole  of  the  stockade, 
where  the  American  colors  fluttered  in  the  morning 
breeze.  The  firing  was  going  on  steadily,  the 
sharp  crack  of  the  rifles  mingling  with  the  deeper 
booming  of  the  escopetas. 

"Would  it  not  be  well,   Almagro,   to  again 
summon  them  to  surrender?"  Flores  asked  of- 
MacNamara,  who  sat  at  his  elbow. 

There  was  respectful  deference  in  the  tones  of 


THE  RACE  FOR  THE  HILLTOP    161 

the  commandant.  By  judicious  use  of  the  subtle 
flattexy  at  which  he  was  an  expert,  the  secret 
agent  had  won  for  himself  a  high  place  in  the 
regard  of  Flores. 

"Not  yet— not  just  yet,"  he  cautioned.  "Ut 
this  attack  continue  for  at  least  an  hour— long 
enough  for  them  to  realize  that  they  are  again 
surrounded,  and  that  we  are  in  earnest  this 
time." 

"Oh,  for  artillery,  for  even  one  cannon,"  sighed 
Flores,  "to  blow  down  that  accursed  gate,  and 
they  would  be  oxirs." 

"Why  not  wish  for  a  dozen  arrobas  of  powder 
or  an  army  of  ten  thousand  from  Sonora?    It  is 
easy— wishing,"  remarked  Don  Augustin  Alvaro 
as  he  took  a  pinch  of  snuff.    He  did  not  like 
Flores,  and  was  at  no  pains  to  conceal  it. 

MacNamara's  brows  were  knit  in  troubled 
thought,  and  his  fingers  played  nervously  in  the 
depths  of  his  black  beard.  He  had  been  con- 
sidenng  the  advisability  of  riding  to  Santa  Bar- 
bara, where  the  British  vessels  lay  at  anchor,  and 
attempting  to  secure  two  or  three  pieces  of 
cannon  from  the  commodore.  But  the  distance 
was  great,  and  he  was  doubtful  of  the  result. 
For  though  the  commodore  was  well  acquainted 
with  him  as  Father  MacNamara,  and  was  familiar 
with  the  whole  matter  of  the  land  grant,  it  was 
questionable   whether   the   naval   officer   would 


?'  ti 


S'itjyLr^s^^v 


i62  THE  DONS  OF  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 


approve  of  the  r61e  MapNamara  was  at  present 
playing,  or  that  he  would  give  him  the  guns  while 
the  result  of  the  revolt  was  still  in  doubt. 

The  sound  of  running  feet  caused  them  to  turn 
their  heads,  and  a  red-headed  young  man  shot 
across  the  open  space  in  front  of  the  house,  and 
rushed  up  to  the  veranda.  It  was  Jos6,  breathless 
and  hatless,  and  as  he  faced  the  oflScers,  and 
leaned  with  one  hand  against  the  veranda  post, 
he  gasped: 

' '  A  cannon,  caballeros !    A  cannon ! ' ' 

"Caramba!"  exclaimed  Flores,  springi^  to  his 
feet.  "Have  the  Americans  unspiked  the  old 
guns?    I  saw  them  in  the  stockade." 

"No,"  panted  Jos6;  "it  is  for  us.  It  is  in  the 
garden  of  Senora  Arillo.  Mariano  is  digging  it 
up  now.  The  senora  sent  me;  she  says  that  it 
is  time  you  should  have  it." 

There  was  now  no  colorful  patch  of  roses  in 
the  patio  of  the  Arillo  home,  but  instead  a  yawning 
hole  where,  since  the  night  before  the  arrival  of 
Stockton  a  month  before,  had  been  buried  the 
brass  cannon  of  the  plaza,  which  for  years  had 
stood  in  front  of  the  church  and  had  roared  forth 
its  salutes  on  many  a  feast  day. 

"For  Dios,"  the  senora  had  said  as  she  rose 
that  August  night  from  her  bed,  "the  heretics 
shall  not  have  the  cannon  of  the  church."  In 
the  silent  night,  with  the  help  of  the  ever-devoted 


THE  RACE  FOR  THE  HILLTOP    163 

Mariano,  she  had  dragged  it  to  ler  garden,  the 
rawhide  thongs  bruising  her  arms,  and  bringing 
the  blood  dripping  from  her  fingers— all  of 
which  she  had  borne  with  a  glad,  fierce  joy  for 
the  greater  glory  of  God. 

"Santa  Madre,  that  is  welcome  news!"  ex- 
claimed Flores.  "Blow  the  bugle,"  he  com- 
manded the  boy  at  his  side,  "that  the  firing  may 
cease.  Meanwhile,  I  will  again  summon  the 
Americans  to  surrender.  Do  you,  Ahnagro,  see  if 
the  boy's  tale  be  true;  but  remember— our  word 
of  honor  is  pledged.  Not  a  thing  of  preparation 
must'  be  done  while  the  white  flag  flies.  When 
the  bugle  sounds  again,  three  long  notes,  the  truce 
is  at  an  end." 

At  the  end  of  a  second  interview  with  Gillie, 
an  interview  which  terminated  in  a  still  more 
emphatic  negative  from  the  American  commander, 
Flores  left  the  stockade,  a  grim  smile  on  his  hand- 
some face.  Almost  immediately  the  three  bugle 
notes  rang  out,  and  the  firing  was  resumed  more 
fiercely  than  before. 

The  day  was  stifling  hot,  and  the  men  on  the 
sloping  roofs  of  the  stockade  swore  fervently  as 
the  sweat  trickled  down  their  faces  and  into  their 
eyes.  Marshall  was  not  on  the  roof.  He  had 
ignored  Gillie's  orders,  and  the  dang  of  his 
hammer  as  he  bent  over  his  cannon  could  be 
heard  occasionally  between  the  bursts  of  firing. 


ffiuun#i' 


1 64    THE  DONS  OF  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

Suddenly,  without  warning,  the  Califomian  fire 
dwindled  down  to  a  few  scattering  shots,  and  then 
ceased.  From  the  north  end  of  the  plaza  came 
thundering  cheers — cheers  in  which  there  was  a 
joyous  note  of  triumph. 

Marshall,  dropping  his  hammer,  rushed  to  the 
west  gate,  climbed  upon  the  ledge,  and  craned  his 
neck  over  the  wall.  For  a  moment  he  stood  as 
rigid  as  a  statue. 

"There  you  are.  Gillie,"  he  roared,  jumping 
down  from  the  ledge  and  throwing  up  his  arms 
in  his  excitement.  "Come  here  and  see  that  gtm 
I  told  you  about  two  weeks  ago,  and  you  would  n't 
believe  me.  There  it  is  now,  coming  down  the 
street. 

"Shoot,  you  fellows  up  there,  shoot!"  he 
yelled.  "For  God's  sake,  shoot!  Get  the  men 
aroimd  that  gun!" 

"They  are  going  up  the  hill  with  it,"  shouted 
a  man  on  the  roof,  and  the  rifles  of  the  frontiers- 
men broke  out  in  a  scattering  volley.  But  it 
was  too  late;  both  men  and  cannon  had  already 
disappeared  beyond  the  church. 

Marshall  acted  like  one  possessed.  Placing 
a  file  in  the  vent  of  the  caimon,  he  rained  on  it 
thundering  blows  with  a  sledge,  his  face  red  and 
the  sweat  trickling  down  his  cheeks.  Suddenly 
the  file  gave  way  and  sank  half  its  length 
into  the  hollow  of  the  gtm. 


^^?ie¥^'SSaBB«' 


"iiir*'#i£"t.ii>ir»i.'i 


THE  RAC|:  FOR  THE  HILLTOP    165 

"Through,  by  God!"  he  panted. 

"Here,  boys,  tome  down  oflf  that  roof,"  he 
roared,  "and  empty  your  cartridges— quick, 
for  Ck,d's  sake!"  He  bit  the  end  of  a  pape; 
cartridge  and  emptied  the  contents  into  his 
big  hat.  In  one  minute  the  hat  was  full,  the  gun 
loaded  and  rammed.  Gillie,  utterly  ignored  in 
the  excitement,  stood  fingering  his  Up  and  staring 
moodily  at  the  scene  of  feverish  activity. 

"Open  the  gate!"  Marshall  shouted  in  authori- 
tative tones.     "Quick,  now!    Who's  comin- with 
me  to  the  top  of  the  hill?    They've  got  the 
start,  but  let  us  race  them  for  it.    Come  on 
bo3rs."  ' 

With  a  glad  shout,  a  dozen  grasped  the  rawhide 
axle  ropes  and  dragged  the  reeling  gun  across  the 
street.  It  was  a  heavy,  clumsy  thing,  but  there 
were  twelve  strong  men  on  the  ropes,  and  up  the 
steep  east  slope  they  clambered,  now  falling  and 
shppmg,  now  grasping  the  grass  roots  and  pro- 
jectmg  stones. 

Breathless  with  excitement  and  anxiety,  the 
men  m  the  stockade  watched  them.  It  was 
a  race  for  the  top  of  the  hill,  and  the  winner  of 
the  race  would  command  the  town.  For  if  the 
Califomians,  now  clambering  up  the  hidden 
north  slope,  reached  the  top  first,  the  little 
gamson  at  the  stockade  would  be  at  their  mercy 
Marshall  and  his  men  were  close  to  the  top  when 


i66    THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 


\    ! 


i 


I 


the  gun,  toppling  over  and  on  its  side,  slipped 
downward,  and  a  groan  broke  from  the  anxious 
watchers  at  the  wall.  But  Marshall,  ever  in  the 
advance,  at  the  end  of  the  longest  riata,  quick  as 
lightning  snubbed  it  over  a  projecting  stone, 
holding  it  securely  till  again  the  gun  was  righted. 

"Cover  the  top  of  the  hill,"  ordered  Carroll, 
"and  fire  at  the  first  head  that  appears.  Do  not 
wait  for  orders.    Pire  on  sight." 

On  struggled  Marshall  and  his  men,  close  to  the 
top  now,  working  like  fiends.  At  last  the  gun 
rolled  easily  over  the  flat* space  on  the  stunmit 
of  the  hill.  Over  it  for  an  instant  bent  a  marine. 
Then,  with  a  roar,  it  spit  a  rolling  burst  of  white 
smoke,  shrouding  the  men  on  the  hill  in  billowing 
clouds. 

A  breathless  moment, — then,  as  the  smoke 
drifted  away,  the  men  around  the  old  field  piece 
threw  up  their  rxii^s,  danced  like  maniacs,  and 
the  hills  re€chocd  ^neir  shouts  of  triumph. 

Marshall  had  won  the  race;  the  Americans  had 
captured  the  hill. 

The  single  shot  aimed  by  the  marine  had 
struck  the  enemy's  gun  fairly,  knocking  it  from  its 
carriage  and  ttunbling  it  down  the  hill,  while  its 
defenders  rushed  madly  for  cover,  leaving  one 
of  their  number  dead  on  the  slope. 

At  the  west  wall  all  were  cheering  wildly — all 
except   Carroll.    He   did  not   hear   them.    His 


THE  RjACE  FOR  THE  HILLTOP    167 

heart  vms  heivy  within  him.    In  his  cars  were 
nnging  the  words  of  the  Indian  woman: 

"Blood  shall  smear  your  path.    Sad  and  long 
IS  the  way,  and  fiUed  with  woe." 


m,t 


i 


CHAPTER  XVII 

THB  MIDNIGHT  SORTIB 

CAPTAIN  GILLIE  was  sadly  shaken  by 
the  events  of  the  last  few  hotirs.  As  a 
subordinate,  carrying  out  the  clearly  defined 
orders  of  a  superior  officer,  his  conscientious 
attention  to  detail  would  have  brought  to  him 
a  large  measure  of  success.  But  in  an  environ- 
ment like  the  present,  where  quick  thought  and 
instantaneous  action  were  an  absolute  necessity, 
he  was  completely  at  sea.  For  the  first  time 
since  taking  command  of  the  garrison,  he  con- 
sulted with  his  officers.  Lieutenants  Carroll  and 
Somers,  as  to  the  best  course  to  follow.  The 
captain  was  considering  the  advisability  of  leaving 
the  stockade  and  joining  Marshall  on  the  hilltop, 
though  he  recognized  that  the  attempt  would 
be  attended  by  considerable  danger  and  possible 
loss  of  life. 

They  were  seated  at  the  table  in  the  captain's 
office.  Gillie  haggard  and  depressed,  Carroll  with 
something  of  the  old  happy  light  in  his  eyes  (he 
was  thinking  of  the  midnight  message),  Somers, 
as  ever,  somber  and  silent. 

"Since  you  wish  my  opinion,  captain,"  Carroll 
was  saying,   "I  am  certainly  in   favor   of   an 

168 


THE  MIDNIGHT  SORTIE  169 

umnediate  retreat  l^th^  hilltop.    One  determined 
rush,  and  it  can  be  done." 

As  Gillie  looked  at  Somers  inquiringly  the 
walls  of  the  room  creaked,  the  floor  shook,  and  a 
^duU  reverberation  as  of  a  disUnt  cannonade 
boomed  under  their  feet. 

"An  earthquake,"  observed  Gillie. 

Carroll  was  staring  in  amazement  at  Somers. 
The  second  heutena.it  was  ghastly  pale,  his  eyes 
mde  op«i  m  horror,  his  face  distorted  in  the  most 
abject  ffear.  With  both  hands  he  clung  to  the 
^e  of  the  table,  as  though  to  save  himself  from 

Again  the  room  creaked  and  the  ground  beneath 
them  quivered.  Somers,  trembling  in  every  limb, 
laid  his  head  on  his  crossed  arms  and  moaned 
piteously.  Carroll  stared  at  him  in  uncompre- 
nendmg  wonder. 

As  tf  with  an  effort,  the  second  lieutenant 
lifted  his  head,  rose  to  his  feet,  and  without  word 
or  sign,  walked  unsteadily  out  of  the  door 

C^oll  met  the  captain's  gaze  questioningly. 
Could  It  be  that  Lieutenant  Somers  was  a  coward? 
Carroll  had  seen  men  under  fire,  and  facing  death 
in  various  forms.  He  knew  the  physical  signs 
of  fear,  and  if  ever  terror  had  been  written  on  a 
man  s  countenance  it  had  shown  in  the  face  of 
Somers.  What  could  there  be  in  a  "temblor  " 
common    enough    in    southern     California    to 


n 


iLi 


170  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

bring  such  a  look  of  ashen  dread  tio  the  cheeks 
of  a  man  and  a  soldier?  * 

But  Gillie  seemed  not  greatly  surprised.  "You 
must  not  misunderstand  Lieutenant  Somers," 
he  said.  "He  is  a  brave  man,  but  he  has  been 
through  one  terrible  earthquake.  It  always  affects 
him  so.  I  noticed  it  firat  when  we  had  those 
two  slight  quakes  a  month  ago.  It  is  often  the 
case,  they  say,  with  many  who  have  seen  an 
earthquake  in  all  its  horror.  It  means  nothing, 
and  will  pass  in  a  few  minutes." 

Somers  reentered  the  room,  his  face  still  some- 
what pale  but  composed. 

"Pardon  me,  gentlemen,"  he  said,  in  his  usual 
calm  tones,  as  he  resumed  his  seat  at  the  table. 
"We  were  discussing  the  question  of  a  retreat  up 
the  hill.    I  am  heartily  in  favor  of  it." 

But  the  captain,  who  still  had  hopes  of  the 
return  of  Benito  Willard's  company,  believed  that 
they  would  arrive  during  the  course  of  the  day. 
His  suggestion  that  the  attempt  to  reach  the 
hilltop  be  deferred  tmtil  night  was  adopted.  But 
the  hopes  of  Gillie  in  this  respect  were  to  be 
shattered  directly. 

"Gee  whilikens,  hear  them  yell,"  remarked  a 
marine  at  the  east  gate,  during  the  afternoon. 
"Wonder  if  the  greasers  found  another  can- 
non?" 

Prom  down  the  street  leading  to  the  river  came 


THE  MIDNIGHT  SORTIE  ,7, 

iVlV^ii.^*^^  yeu.  loud  and  prolonged. 
,  At  CarroU  s  orders  the  men  sprang  to  the  waUs, 
their  pieces  loaded  and  primed.    A  large  detach- 
ment   of   mounted  men   was  approaching,   the 
Mexican  flag  fluttering  at  their  head,  the  ends 
of  their  long,   upright  lances  resting  in  their 
stiiTup  straps.    Boldly  they  rode  up  the  street 
and  turning,  passed,  as  if  in  review,  before  the 
stockade  gate.    CarroU.  who  had  been  watching 
them  with  a  puzzled  frown  on  his  face,  for  their 
mwiner    was    anything    but    hostile,    suddenly 
called  out:  ' 

"Ground  arms,  men!    Do  not  fire!    My  God  I 
they  have  captured  Willard  and  his  meni" 

Surrounded  by  a  double  line  of  horsemen,  rode 
the  twenty  captured  members  of  the  militia 
company.  Matt  Harbin,  his  left  arm  in  a  slini? 
and  Bwiito  Willard.  a  blood-stained  rag  around 
his  head,  glanced  up  at  the  row  of  anxious  faces 
above  the  waU.  with  an  embarrassed  air.  As 
Willard  caught  sight  of  the  flag  waving  above  the 
stockade  his  dejected  face  brightened;  he  threw 
up  his  arm  in  an  appealing  gesture,  then  gravely 
saluted  the  colors. 

At  the  head  of  the  column,  on  a  gayly  capari- 
soned horse,  rode  Servolo  Palera.  his  head  erect, 
his  beanng  glad  and  triumphant.  But  even  as 
he  looked  up  into  the  faces  of  the  Americans  he 
smiled,  a  smile  in  which  there  was  none  of  the 


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as  (716)   288-  5989  -Fox 


172  THE  DONS  OF  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

dark  maliciousness  that  set  some  of  his  men 
jeering  viciously  at  the  riflemen. 

"Your  turn  is  yet  to  come,  senores,"  cried  one, 
with   mock   politeness. 

"We  shall  invite  you  soon  to  join  yowc  fi lends," 
shouted  another  Califomian — remarks  which 
Carroll  translated  for  the  Americans  who  could 
not  tmderstand  Spanish. 

It  was  Flores  who  had  ordered  the  bold  and 
spectacular  parade  past  the  stockade,  knowing 
full  well  that  the  garrison  would  not  fire,  as  there 
would  be  grave  danger  cf  wounding  the  prisoners, 
and  hoping  that  the  moral  effect  of  the  capture 
would  bring  about  a  surrender. 

The  commandant  was  a  Mexican,  not  a  Cali- 
fomian, and  his  knowledge  of  Americans  was 
slight  indeed.  They  were  as  much  without  fear 
as  they  were  without  malice.  To  the  men  in 
the  stockade,  confident  of  the  ultimate  triumph 
of  the  United  States,  the  struggle  was  nothing 
more  than  a  game,  a  modification  of  the  game 
that  they  had  been  playing  for  years,  with  other 
antagonists, —  hunger,  cold,  thirst,  and  savage 
Indians.  If  by  some  strange  turn  of  events 
peace  had  come  instantly,  they  would  have  been 
willing  to  share  their  last  crust,  and  their  last 
coin,  if  it  were  needed,  with  their  former  enemies. 
But  while  the  game  lasted  they  were  playing  it 
good-humoredly,  but  with  all  the  intensity  and 


? 


THE  MIDNIGHT  SORTIE  ,73 

Kto  t*?!  *%^«'r^«°".  -d  they  would 
play  It  to  the  end  as  long  as  a  shred  of  hope 

™?he  ?^,-'^^«  *-PP-ed  in  JZ 
toward  the  Califomian  headquarters. 

Quickly  the  preparations  for  leaving  the  stock- 
ade went  on.  during  the  afternoon.  ThetL^^. 
tion  and  provisions  were  gathered  into  compact 
bundles  and  cinched  on  the  backs  of  the  hXs 
The  remaining  gun.  though  still  unspiked.  was 
taken  from  its  rude  carriage  and  lashed  to  the 
crosstrees  of  a  pack  saddle. 

wl,n^°"'/T^^'^''"'^y^^^^^"*^°^tSomers, 
who  stood  close  to  him  watching  the  scene  o 
busthng  activity,  noted  the  deepened  melancholy 

wLl%r^'  ^^'^'  ^"^^ti^ely  be  felt  that  he 
was  in  the  presence  of  a  sorrow  such  as  few  men 
ever  know  and  his  sympathetic  heart  went  oS 
to  his  sad-faced  comrade.  With  this  thought  in 
his  mmd  he  said  quietly: 
''That  quake  seemed  to  startle  you.  lieutenant." 

Though  neither  rude  nor  resentful,  there  was 
yet  that  m  the  smgle  spoken  word  that  made 
further  reference  to  the  occurrence  impossible. 

At  michught  Carroll  reported  to  the  captain 
that  everythmg  was  ready  for  the  sortie.    Instruc 
tions  were  given  to  ride  down  the  street  silently 
and  m  case  of  attack  to  rush  to  the  foot  of  the 
ascent  and  climb  the  hill  as  rapidly  as  possible 
12 


i 


174  THE  DONS  OF  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

The  horses  loaded  with  the  supplies  were  placed 
in  the  center,  under  charge  of  Somers;  Gillie 
himself  took  charge  of  the  van,  while  Carroll 
brought  up  the  rear. 

Over  the  yellow  sand  of  the  street,  the  glaring 
white  of  the  adobe  walls,  and  the  inky  shadows 
there  brooded  a  heavy  and  oppressive  silence  as 
the  creaking  gates  swung  open.  The  column  of 
horsemen,  marching  out  six  abreast,  turned  slowly 
into  the  moonlit  street,  and  walked  quietly  past 
the  dark  verandas  toward  the  foot  of  the  slope. 
Not  a  sotmd  could  be  heard  but  the  soft  putter 
of  hoofs  in  the  sand,  the  creak  of  saddles,  and 
the  excited  breathing  of  the  men.  Already  the 
heavily  loaded  horses  in  the  center  of  the  group 
had  reached  the  slope,  and  were  climbing  upward, 
the  stones  trickling  from  their  scrambling  feet 
down  into  the  roadway.  It  seemed  as  though  the 
short  journey  was  to  be  made  without  interruption. 

But.  suddenly  gims  bellowed  up  and  down  the 
street,  bullets  hissed  above  their  heads,  and  a 
wild  whirl  of  mounted  men  was  upon  them. 

"Go  on,  boys!"  shouted  Carroll.  "We  will 
hold  them."  With  three  mounted  frontiersmen 
on  either  side,  he  turned  to  meet  the  charge. 
Suddenly  his  horse,  a  lance  point  in  its  throat, 
reared  and  screamed  in  agony,  and  Carroll  fired 
his  pistol  at  the  moimted  man  before  him.  Then 
his  horse  went  down,  and  he  scrambled  to  his  feet. 


THE  MIDNIGHT  SORTIE  175 

saber  m  hand,  to  find  himself  staring  up  into  the 

eyes  of  Don  Jos6  Antonio.  P  "»«>  tne 

"Surrender,  Sefior  CarroU."  said  Arillo  as  their 

swords  crossed.    "I  would  not  willingly  ha^^ 

So  kinc   so  gentle,  so  just  was  the  voice,  that 

[houghr^"''''  ^^°"  ""^  ^^"^"^  °^  ^^*^« 

fJl^l^.  ^'°"  ^"«^*  ^^^  ^^^  before  him; 
the  huddled  press  of  struggling  men  and  plunging 
horses  faded  mto  darkness.  A  strange  sound  like 
the  song  of  a  distant  river  hummed  in  his  ears  and 
he  felt  himself  sinking,  falling.  through^S 
reahns  of  black  midnight  space. 


§1 


N)  ni 


v:i 


1 

m 

J 

^^M 

CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE  FAITH  OP  SERVOLO  P. 


.RA 


A  BIRD  was  singing  in  the  tree  overhead. 
"^^  Carroll  opened  his  eyes,  and  stared  at  the 
gently  swa3ang  leaves  above  him.  Somewhere 
close  at  hand  was  the  sound  of  voices  and  the  lisp 
of  moving  water.  Gray  were  the  ridges  with  the 
passing  of  early  dawn,  as  a  creeping  radiance 
whitened  the  eastern  sky.  From  where  he  lay, 
his  head  pillowed  on  a  folded  serape,  he  could 
see  a  line  of  men  sprawling  along  the  river  bank, 
and  farther  away  several  motmted  Califomians 
under  the  white  limbs  of  a  crooked  sycamore. 
He  raised  his  head,  but  a  sharp  stab  of  pain  shot 
through  his  shoulders,  a  deadly  nausea  gripped 
him,  and  he  sank  back  with  a  moan. 

"Feeling  better,  lieutenant?" 

He  raised  his  pain-wrenched  eyelids  to  look 
into  the  face  of  Benito  Willard. 

"Here,  taice  a  sip  of  this."  Willard  passed  hi^ 
arm  about  Carroll's  shoulders,  and,  raising  him 
to  a  sitting  position,  pressed  a  flask  of  wine  to  his 
lips. 

"What  happened?"  inquired  Carroll,  groping  in 
his  memory  for  the  events  of  the  night.  "Did 
they  get  up?" 

176 


THE  FAHH  OP  SERVOLO  PALERA    177 

"Yes,  they  got  up  aU  right;  but  they  lost  most 
of  their  provisions.  Flores  thinks  they  will  have 
to  surrender  soon.  Jixniny.  but  that  was  a  wal! 
lop  you  got !    Let  me  look  at  that  head  " 

Carroll  raised  his  hand  to  his  brow  and  touched 

ThrTh-      ^^°°^-^^°"^d  hair.    His  head  was  still 
throbbing  fiuiously.  but  the  nausea  was  gone, 
and  with  the  red  wine  flooding  his  veins  he  fel 
a  quick  accession  of     turning  strength 

bearmg  baskets  filled  with  food  for  the  prisoners 
Fir^  had  already  been  Hghted.  and  the  appet^lTg 
odor  of  boHmg  coffee  floated  on  the  moSng  air 

Carr^r  '^  ^'^   ^°"'    "^P*^'"   ^«^ 

''Caught  us  at  the  Chino  Rancho.    When  we 

got  to  niy  ranch  and  found  that  it  was  aU  moon- 

S^L'^'l?^''^  "^^^  ^  ^^^  Cucamon^ 
ZTr.  ^^^  '"^^  ^"°"Sh  gone  to  Sonora-we 
decided  to  go  to  the  mountains  and  hunt  bear  for 

w  n  ^^f°"^^^y^^°"g  comes  John  Rowland 
news  that  there  was  the  very  devil  to  pay.    Con- 

"^w  ,f  ..^^r^  ^°°^  ^^^^  ■  It '«  a"  his  fault. 
Chilu  .  c^nti^^^ed.  "we  all  marched  to 
Chino.  hopmg  to  get  a  new  supply  of  powder  there, 
for  we  had  used  nearly  all  of  ours  on  the  bears. 
In  the  mormng  Servolo  Palera  and  his  men  had 
surrounded  us.  and  pretty  soon  they  made  a 


I 


178  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

charge  on  the  ar'  )bc8  where  we  were.  We  gave 
them  a  volley — knocked  one  young  fellow — 
Ballestos  was  his  name — out  of  his  saddle, 
dead  as  a  door  nail.  Too  blamed  bad,  too'; 
he  was  a  nice  young  chap.  That's  his  twin 
brother  over  there  on  the  big  bay  horse  by  the 
sycamore.  Pretty  soon  I  saw  it  was  no  use. 
Our  powder  was  all  but  gone,  and  they  had  set 
fire  to  the  roof;  so  it  was  either  bum  or  give  up. 
So  when  Servolo  Palera  came  to  the  door  and 
gave  me  his  word  that  we  would  not  be  harmed, 
but  would  be  treated  as  prisoners  of  war,  we 
came  out  and  gave  up  otv  guns.  Don  Servolo 's 
all  right;  he'll  keep  his  word.  Damn  Gillie, 
anyway;  he's  a  fool.  I'll  bet  Plores  has  robbed 
my  store  in  the  city  by  t*iis  time." 

Willard  helped  himself  liberally  to  the  frijoles 
that  one  of  the  Indian  women  placed  before  him, 
and  then  added,  "I  wish  the  dam  fuss  was  over. 
It  can  have  but  one  end,  anyway.  Why,  there's 
my  wife!"  he  cried,  as  he  sprang  to  his  feet. 

Two  women  were  hurrying  out  of  the  peach 
orchard  toward  the  river,  and  Willard  and  Harbin 
stepped  forward  to  meet  them.  In  their  arms 
they  carried  bundles  of  clothing  for  their  husbands. 
Though  their  dark  faces  were  troubled,  they  bore 
up,  with  a  brave  attempt  at  carelessness. 

Carroll  was  listening  idly  to  the  badly  accented 
Spanish  of  the  two  Americans  as  they  assured 


li 


THE  T'AITH  OF  SERVOLO  PALERA     179 

their  wives  that  there  was  no  danger,  and  they 
would  doubtless  be  released  on  parole  in  a  few 
days,  when  a  footfall  behind  him  caused  him  to 
start.  Painfully  he  turned  his  head,  and  looked 
into  the  eyes  of  Loreto  Arillo. 

For  a  moment  the  girl  gazed  at  him  in  dumb 
agony,  at  his  unshorn  and  haggard  face,  his 
soiled  and  bedraggled  uniform,  the  streak  of 
clotted  blood  on  his  brow. 

"Jos6  told  me,  but  now,"  she  panted,  "and 
I  came.  Mother  does  not  know.  Oh,  Juan, 
Juan,"  she  moaned,  "they  have  hurt  thee." 

The  lieutenant  had  risen  shakily  to  his  feet, 
tumultuous  gladness  surging  through  his  soul.' 
Ignoring  all  conventionalities,  defying  every 
tradition  of  her  race  and  her  training,  obedient 
only  to  the  call  of  her  heart,  she  had  come  to  him. 
He  forgot  the  war,  forgot  his  wound,  forgot 
everything  save  the  joy  that  flooded  his  soul  at 
this  conclusive  evidence  of  her  constancy.  In 
trance-like  ecstasy  he  threw  his  arms  about  her, 
and  drew  her  to  him,  murmuring,  "You  came 
to  me !    You  came —  to  me ! " 

For  the  first  time  his  lips  met  hers  in  a  long, 
passionate  pressure.  Then  her  hcjad  sank  on  his 
shoulder. 

"Ah  Juan,  Juan,  I  fear  it  can  never  be,"  she 
sobbed.     "Father  himself  has  said  so." 
For   only  this   morning,   Don   Jos6  Antonio, 


r 


%^ 


i8o  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

returning  from  the  deathbed  of  one  of  his  dearest 
friends,  shot  down  during  the  skirmish  at  the  foot 
of  the  hill,  had  said,  sadly  but  firnly,  in  answer 
to  the  unspoken  question  in  her  eyes,  "No, 
child,  no-  it  must  not  be.  Set  thy  mind  to  forget 
him;  there  is  now  too  much  blood  between  our 
peoples." 

The  Don  knew  nothing  of  Carroll's  capture. 
Engaged  in  the  ei.-»rt  to  save  his  wounded  friend, 
he  had  lost  sight  of  Carroll  in  the  m616e.  The 
attacking  party,  broken  in  two  by  a  \olley  and  a 
counter-charge  from  the  Americans,  and  satisfied 
with  their  capture  of  severstl  of  the  provision-laden 
horses,  had  galloped  away — Arillo  and  his  men 
northwar  i  toward  the  plaza,  while  the  remainder, 
tearing  with  them  the  unconscious  form  of 
C&rroll,  had  ridden  down  the  street  in  the  opposite 
direction.  Vanuela  had  ordered  Carroll  plated 
with  the  other  prisoners,  and  had  not  seen  fit  to 
notify  Arillo  of  his  capture. 

Bitter,  too,  was  the  feeling  among  the  Cali- 
fomians  at  Gillie's  stubborn  resistance,  a  resistance 
that,  under  the  circumstances,  they  c».uld  neither 
understand  nor  appreciate.  To  them  it  seemed 
but  stupid  obstinacy,  and  a  reckless  disregard 
for  human  life.  Equally  bitter  was  the  animosity 
toward  Willard  and  his  men  for  having  taken 
up  arms  against  the  land  that,  for  many  years, 
had  given  them  a  home  and  a  welcome.    The 


'^  FAITH  OF  SERVOLO  "ALERA    .g. 

was  tnumphant  never  again  would  an  rooricanbe 
allowed  to  reside  in  the  country.  Arillo  i^ 
-ted  the  iu^ice  of  the  decisi^.  but  he  wS 

l!r  ^  •''•  '"."'*  ""'*■■  '-^-d.  the  Americans 
w«e  «cto„ous  they  would  possibly  deal  haiSty 
with  the  men  who  had  broken  their  parZ 
Rductantly.  he  had  been  driven  to  the  cond^™ 
that,  m  any  event,  there  was  but  grief  and  bitter- 

to  plam  duty  to  withdraw  his  consent  to  the 
engagement. 

At  the  girl's  unexpected  words,  at  the  sieht 
of  her  face  dark  with  sorrow,  Camiu's  hea^  X 

Tc^^.   ""^  "^  "^  throbbed,  »dX 
sicJcening  nausea  swept  ove-  him 

"Loreto,  L^to."  he  moaned.   "I  camiot.  I 

^11    -t  gr^ve  thee  up.    i,  there  no  hope?  ' 

I  iove  thee,  Juan.    Come  what  may,  I  shall 

ZZ'JZV'"'''    '   "^   "--  love'^knottf 
But  everythmg  and  eve.y  one  is  against  us^' 

.trLrr?         ^^^'  miserably,  wnile  the  tears 
streamed  down  her  face. 

Carroll,  racked  with  mental  and  physical  agrny 

^But,  Ix,reto-after  the  war  is  over-I  v.iU 
"No,  no.  Jack."    There  was  utter  hopelessness 


ii 

■  9* 


If      I 


't 


J: 


M' 


i8a  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

in  her  voice.  "No  more  will  Americans  be 
allowed  in  the  land.  But,  if  thou  canst  come,  I 
will  go  with  thee,  anywhere." 

A  sharp  command  from  the  horsemen  under 
the  trees,  and  Willard  and  Harbin  released  them- 
selves from  the  arms  cf  their  wives.  Loreto 
stood  for  a  moment,  sobbing  silently,  then  she 
threw  her  arms  around  Carroll's  neck  and  kissed 
him  frantically. 

"Parewell,  Juan,  my  love.  Farewell— perhaps 
for  the  last  time.  God  bless  and  protect  thee. 
We  may  never  meet  again." 

"We  shall,"  protested  Carroll  with  pale  lips, 
lips  on  which  there  was  something  aldn  to  a  grim 
smile.  "Fear  not,  dearest,  I  will  come,  I  will 
come  for  thee." 

Little  he  dreamed  in  whit  guise  he  would  come 
again  to  Loreto  Arillo. 

As  she  turned  away,  Seflora  Willard  took  the 
heart-broken  girl  in  her  arms,  and  the  tears  of 
the  women  mingled.  Carroll  stood  speechless. 
Around  him  the  trees,  the  hills,  the  sky  were 
whirling  wildly. 

As  the  prisoners,  shepherded  by  the  grim-faced 
horsemen,  waded  the  shallow  stream,  the  lieuten- 
ant paused  to  look  back  at  the  motionless  figures 
of  the  three  grieviiig  women.  Ballestos,  who 
was  riding  dose  to  him,  brought  his  long  lance 
down  heavily  across  the  lieutenant's  shoulders 
and  snapped: 


-  0. 


THE  FAITH  OP  SERVOIX.  PAL2RA    .83 

"Keep  in  line  there,  and  face  to  the  front." 

CotoU  was  stiU  weak  and  shalcy.  and  the 

Jt.ff  blow  «t  hu  neck  muscles  aching  in  agony 

Harbm    close  to  him.  muttered  a  cLejT^' 

Sstm"""^  step,  and  paling  face,  'h^ 

MacNamara,  riding  at  the  reo:  of  the  line 
had  seen  the  blow,  but  gave  no  si,..  Hi!  Zk 
face  was  heavy  with  troubled  thought.  Md^ 
fingers  groped  in  the  depths  of  hi,  blri.  ^^ 
was  cause  for  his  uneasiness.    Th^  on  tt! 

^gocd  reason  for  suspecting  that  many  of , .« 

U^it^  S*.  """"^  "^^  "'"■Kth  of  the 
Umted  States,  were  at  heart  doubtful  of  the 
success  of  the  revolt.  He  was  beriLtoi,  ^ 
«^t  that  they  saw  in  it  but  a  m^fo^ 
from  the  Amencans  honorable  te.-ms  of  capitu- 
lation if  an  overwhehning  force  should  Snl 
upon  them  out  of  the  east. 
Though  Flores  and  most  of  the  army  were 

T^rt  'f""'^*''^'  he  sensed  great  da^ 
m  the  lack  of  enthusiasm  noticeabte  in  AriU^ 
A^var^  Garfias,  and  Cota.  True,  they^ 
aU  tabng  an  active  and  efficient  part  in^ 
Pr«en  mj.tary  operations,  and  would  be  ZlZ 
to  fight  agamst  the  invaders  when  they  ap^'' 
but  he  suspected  it  would  be  only  for  fhe^^ 


i84  THE  DONS  OF  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

of  salving  their  injured  dignity,  and  forcing 
forgiveness  for  the  broken  paroles,  and  not  with 
any  hope  of  ultimate  victory. 

Eugene  MacNamara  was  a  man  of  one  idea— 
the  glory  and  prestige  of  the  British  Empire. 
His  command  of  Castilian  was  such  that  none  in 
the  pueblo  dreamed  he  was  aught  but  the  Spaniard 
he  claimed  to  be,   while  his  miUtary  bearing 
confirmed  the  rumor  that  he  had  seen  service  in 
the  old  land.    His  Irish  name  was  but  an  acci- 
dental legacy  from  some  forgotten  ancestor,  who 
iiad  bequeathed  to  him  nai^ght  else  but  a  certain 
quickness  of  thought  and  keenness  of  perception 
Apart  from  these  Celtic  attributes,  the  man  was 
EngUsh  in  heart  and  soul.    Something,  he  was 
thinking,  would  have  to  be  done  to  make  the 
diasm    between    the   gente    de   razon   and   the 
Americans  so  impassable  that  no  reconciUation 
would  be  possible.    Now  was  the  time,  while 
the  tide  of  anger  was  flooding  high  in  the  hearts 
of  the  Califomians. 

It  was  at  this  moment  that  the  heavy  lance  of 
Ballestos   feU   across   the  shoulders  of  CarroU 
and  the  EngHshman  noted  the  Califomian's  fierj^ 
eye  and  heard  his  muttered  oath. 

His  countenance  settled  into  an  expression  of 
gnm  hardness;  he  urged  his  horse  forward,  until 
he  rode  side  by  side  with  Ballestos.  Leaning 
in  his  saddle,  he  whispered  long  and  earnestly. 


THE  FAITH  OF  SERVOLO  PALERA    185 

The  line  01  prisoners  traHed  snake-like  over 
the  long  brown  rise  beyond  the  river.    As  they 
swung  to  the  south,  through  a  hollow.  Willard 
who  had  been  glancing  back  suspiciously  at  the 
two,  heard  MacNamara's  cold  voice:  "Once  done 
BaUestos,  it  would  soon  be  forgotten  and  forgiven  '' 
The  Califomian,  a  baleful  Ught  in  his  face 
nodded,  and  smiled  a  cruel  little  smile  that  showed 
his  sharp  white  teeth. 
"Halt!" 

MacNamara  walked  his  horse  over  to  the 
guards,  and  gave  some  whispered  orders.  They 
dipped  from  their  steeds,  and  carefully  primed 
theu-  escopetas. 

^  ''My  God,"  gasped  Willard,  whose  quick  eye 
had  noted  the  preparations,  "they  are  going  to 
shoot  us!"  6  "i«  w 

"You  wiU  have  just  ten  minutes  to  pray  and  to 
write  any  messages  you  may  wish  to  send  your 
fnends;  I  promise  you  that  they  shaU  be  delivered 
And  then—the  execution  wiU  take  place.  "Mac- 
Namara drew  a  notebook  from  his  clothes,  tore 
out  a  handful  of  leaves,  and  handed  them  to 
one  of  the  guards,  who  distributed  them  to  the 
horror-striken  men. 

"You  bloodthirsty  dogs."  roared  Harbin,  "you 
wul  aU  swmg  for  this  when  Stockton  comes  back ' " 
^  Carroll  knew  warfare.  He  had  seen  its  horrors 
in  Cuba.    He  knew  that  the  anger  and  resentment 


i86  THE  DONS  OF  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

following  a  day's  engagement  often  led  to  indis- 
cretions, regretted  on  the  morrow.  He  understood 
the  revenge  of  Ballestos.  Though  all  California 
might  repudiate  the  slaughter  after  it  was  over, 
nothing  would  then  alter  the  grim  fact. 

Men  look  death  in  the  face  with  varying 
demeanors.  He  noted  almost  idly  that  one  man, 
whose  hardihood  and  bravery  he  knew  full  well, 
had  collapsed  with  mental  and  physical  fear. 
Another  great,  overgrown  boy  was  protesting 
with  theatrical  fervor  that  he  "would  die  like  a 
man."  Of  one  thing  he  was  sure;  he  would  not 
die  without  some  effort 'to  forestall  the  end. 
Life,  in  spite  of  its  vicissitudes,  was  still  very 
sweet.  He  looked  at  the  line  of  doomed  men, 
most  of  whom  were  dumb  with  horror.  They 
stood  silent,  some  idly  folding  the  papers,  some 
writing  in  feverish  haste. 

The  fixed  features  of  MacNamara,  he  observed, 
were  intently  bent  on  him;  for  the  Englishman 
was  a  judge  of  men,  and  he  feared  that  Carroll 
would  be  the  one  to  prevent  the  execution,  if 
such  a  thing  were  at  all  possible. 

When  Carroll's  note  was  written  the  secret 
agent  reached  for  it,  but  Ballestos  intercepted 
it. 

"Pardon  me,  Senor  Ahnagro,"  he  said  haughtily, 
"this  note  is  addressed  to  me." 

MacNamara  frowned;  then  smiled. 


THE  FAITH  OP  SERVOLO  PALERA    187 

cl^^^^"  Pf  ed  when  he  read  it,  and  held  it 
denched,  while  his  eyes  went  to  the  ground. 
MacNamara  was  anxious  and  impatient. 

corner'' *""'•"  "'^  "^^P"^^-    "^^'^' 

But   Ballestos,   ever  a   vacillating  man,  was 

perplexed  and  alarmed.    Vengeful  though  he  J^ 

Lll'^"l\''r  ^'"^^-    The  Americans  had 

^^     I.  r^''  '^''  *^^^  "^"^^  ^^^^  ^^--^  in 
return     But  here  was  one  feature  he  had  failed 

to  reahze,  for  CarroU's  note  read : 

o  "^^  ^^  murder  me  without  giving  me  th*» 
services  of  a  priest,  my  soul  wiU  hatStVol  S^ou^h 
We  until  death,  and  thereaf t^vSl  p^^  "f 5 
throughout  the  borders  of  hell,  ^th^^eof 
our  common  faith,  I  demand  a  priestT 

Ballestos  was  astounded  to  find  the  American 
officer  a  Catholic.  Aside  from  that,  his  sui^ 
stitious  soul  thrilled  with  fear  at  the  thought  t^t 
the  man  though  dead,  might  fuIfiU  his  terrible 
threat.  Glancing  toward  Carroll,  he  noted  that 
the  heutenant  had  sunk  to  his  knees,  and  was 
crossmg  himself . 

j^J^°"^  a  ^ord.  he  handed  the  note  to  Mac 

"Stuffl"  declared  MacNamara.    "Let  the  exe- 
cution proceed. " 

But   BaUestos   objected.    He   asked   if  there 
was  not  some  way  to  comply  with  the  American's 


'Mm 

■mi 


i88    THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

request?  Priests  were  plentiful,  but  there  were 
none  to  be  had  at  the  present  moment.  Perhaps, 
in  twenty  minutes,  one  could  be  brought  from 
the  main  command,  farther  down  the  river.  It 
would  be  better;  the  men  lu  rst  die,  but  it  would 
be  quite  as  effective  to  hold  off  the  execution  for 
half  an  hour;  Carroll's  request  was  surely  within 
his  rights. 

So  he  reasoned  while  MacNamara  fumed. 
Moments  slipped  away.  Carroll  watched  the 
parley,  grimly  determined  that,  while  he  would 
line  up  ostensibly  to  be  shot,  he  would  make  a 
fight  for  his  life.  WheA  the  men  faced  the 
muskets,  he  determined  to  drop  beneath  the 
bullets'  level  and,  rushing  mto  the  firing  squad, 
throw  confusion  into  the  executioners.  Probably 
he  would  be  shot  or  beaten  to  death,  but  he  would 
make  a  fight  for  it.  Already  he  had  accomplished 
something.  Had  he  not  written  the  note  and 
caused  the  delay,  twenty-six  bleeding  corpses 
would  now  be  lying  on  the  groimd.  He  presumed 
they  would  not  tie  his  hands.  With  the  little  case 
knife  concealed  within  his  shirt,  he  would  stab 
and  stab  and  stab,  until  the  darkness  of  death 
ended  everything.  He  proposed  to  die  like  an 
American  and  a  soldier,  and  perhaps — perhaps — 
after  all,  there  was  some  hope.  He  might  escape. 
The  horses  were  standing  with  drooping  reins 
close  at  hand.    A  quick  dash,  and  once  in  a 


THE  FAITH  OP  SERVOLO  PALERA    .89 
^  he  would  have  a  fair  chance  for  life  ^ 

Still  n'«»;«  -  •    t..        *«»«>«rance  of  her  constancy 
w^  to^^  »  *«  e«..  the  chaBce  of  happing 
was  to  be  shattered  at  his  Kps.    The  basest 
co^  „ev^  feared  death  mo«  than  ^L^V 
aUbecauseofher.    Never  before  in  aU  his  exkt^~ 

keen  as  m  the  bnef  penod  since  he  had  known  her 
lo™,  and  suffered  the  estrangement. 
His  mind  was  pUying  him  que^  pranks  f™- 

Z^:t  "'".•"^  ^^'^'^  ^.   he 
saddle  lying  on  the  ground  near  by     The  <mC 

o1'hnth^t^'^*°**«'^»<='<'»ts 

t,.J^  °*^r  ?^  ^^  "^S""  to  nenre  themselves 
for  the  ordeal.  Beyond  the  blue  hills,^^^ 
peaceful  jymmetry.  the  arehing  azur^  Z  eav^ 

sweetness  of  hfe.    CarroU  had  passeci  a  locket 

about  it  s^^:'^Dy:X',J^:tZr'^ 
The  parley  between  MacNamara  and  BaUestos 


m 


••f 

i 


i; 


190    THE  DONS  OF  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

still  continued,  the  Englishman  insistent,  scorn- 
ful, the  other  troubled  and  hesitating, 

"Your  brother  went  to  meet  his  God  unshriven. 
Will  you  do  more  for  these,  his  murderers?" 
MacNamara  sneered. 

Ballestos  forgot  his  superstitious  fears,  his 
religious  scruples.  He  remembered  only  his  twin 
brother,  shot  out  of  his  saddle  at  Chino  by  the 
very  men  now  before  him.  He  groimd  his  teeth, 
and  threw  his  hand  upward  in  a  motion  of  assent. 

The  doomed  men  were  ranged  in  line  in  front 
of  the  Califomians,  \»ho  stood  with  the  butts  of 
their  escopetas  on  the  ground,  scarce  ten  feet  away. 
The  firing  squad  gazed  curiously  at  the  men  about 
to  die.  They  were  impatient,  for  Carroll's  note 
had  caused  nearly  half  an  hour's  delay.  The 
lieutenant's  head  was  throbbing  again,  but  he 
rallied  his  strength  to  stand  erect,  noting  carefully 
the  man  who  was  to  send  him  to  death.  His 
hands  we^e  not  tied,  and  he  determined  to  find 
the  rifleman's  heart  with  his  knife  at  the  first 
encounter.  After  that  he  world  cut  right  and 
left,  till  the  daylight  vanished. 

MacNamara's  sharp  eye  observed  him  fumbling 
in  his  jacket. 

"Search  that  man,"  he  ordered. 

Two  Califomians  sprang  upon  Carroll.  As 
he  resisted  feebly,  the  knife  dropped  to  the 
ground  and  was  picked  up  by  one  of  the  guards. 


iii: 


THE  FAITH  OP  SERVOLO  PALERA     .,. 

,"  *  ^,  i^°^-  ^<i  fight  it  out. 
gro^r"      ^'  ««-   «-  -i^ted  from   the 
^^ftesent!"    He  looked  down  a  gUstening  g„„ 

CarroU's  amis  were  bent,  his  muscles   t^„t 
h«  fists  clenched;  his  blooihot  ey™S 

Signal  word.    He  was  crouchine  for  a  ]nv^  e«  • 
at  the  man  before  him.  when  a^tt^  'Z^l 
nausea  swept  over  hhn.    In  spite  of  hir^h"! 
muscles  rela,-ied  and  his  eyes  closed -TZ'tv. 
umveise  rocked  about  him.  ^       ** 

A  rush  of  hoofs,  a  dark  mass  between  him  »„rf 
the  sky,  a  clatter  of  steel  on  g^ZX  Sd 
«.e  heutenant  half  opened  his  eyTto^^^f 
Palera,  sword  in  hand,  striking  down  theTs<3^° 

™ior^"^'''^^-'^''"^^-^«'^P^^^g 

thl^H'™^"'*/""  ^^'■"  ^^  "ared.    "By 

sSorrsiJSoir.''r:^:3^ 

a.  a  man  and  a  Christian,  that^ti-rL^sCM 


' 


r 


xpa  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

not  be  injured.  And  not  one  h'  .  of  their  heads 
shall  be  banned  while  a  drop  /  blood  flows  in 
my  veins." 

Swinging  his  horse  about  to  face  MacNamara 
and  Ballestos,  "Sangre  de  Cristo!"  he  panted 
"You  son  of  the  devil,  Almagro,  you  would 
have  done  murder,  and  you,  Ballestos,  when 
I  heard  you  were  in  charge  of  the  prisoners,  I 
feared  the  worst — you  two  are  no  Christian  gen- 
tlemen, but  heathen  Goths.  I  saw  the  signs  of 
your  deviltry  from  yonder  hill;  had  my  horse 
not  been  a  fleet  one,  these  men  would  now  be 
dead."  » 

The  men  stood  silent,  awed  by  the  nearness  of 
the  death  they  had  escaped.  Willard  alone  was 
grinning  maliciously. 

"You  wait,  you  little  skunk,"  he  snered  at 
Ballestos,  "I'll  get  you  for  this  somehow,  some- 
where.   See  if  I  don't." 

For  Carroll  the  strain  had  been  too  great. 
With  all  the  strength  of  which  his  pain-racked 
body  was  capable,  he  had  keyed  himself  to  meet 
death  fighting.  Then  had  come  the  shock  of 
utter  relief.  As  the  landscape  faded  from  his 
sight,  he  swayed,  tottered,  and  fell  forward  on 
his  face. 

Palera,  at  the  sotmd,  swung  his  horse  arotmd, 
and  stared  down  curiously  at  the  tmconscious 
figure  ou  the  groimd. 


THE  KUTH  OF  SERVOLO  PALERA    .„ 
JW^  is  he?"  h..i„q^.  „  ,,  „^  ^ 

tu2«^,Tn?^^  «rf  Gillie's  command,  ca;^ 
turedatthe  hUl  last  night,"  responded  Willard. 

^y  the  orders  of  PaI#>ro    «  1*4 
J-^me  sapHngs'g^tTg  L  ^hoZw^d 
the  pnsoners  only  too  gladly  carried  tt71^ 
saoas  man  over  the  hills  to  fhe^Th  ~"" 

^^"l-  ^'^'^  "*«  P""^""  Bluff 

the  ht..  ga«d  do™"^i^^s-=^:r'e 

Ihou,  '  he  musprf    "a^  *i. 

bughw  my  ,i,c";eT  t  tSi  ':ordif 2  ^ 

l^ee^ven  as  i^^'^l'^k^^Z^^^^ 

s<.n^rtS-^,---tr^ 


?H 


it  i : 


i 


•.4;« 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THB  SNARL  OF  THE  WOLP 

'pO  an  adobe  in  the  deep  gulch  behind  the 
•■■  Paredon  Bluff,  Palera  led  the  prisoners. 
Hardly  had  they  arrived  when  a  messenger,  riding 
hurriedly,  summoned  Servolo  to  headquarters. 
In  r  ^ite  of  the  pleading  protests  of  the  Americans, 
he  obeyed  the  order,  assuring  them  that  they 
had  nothing  further  to  fear,  an«.l  that  he  would 
return  as  soon  as  possible.  ,  Bereft  of  his  protecting 
presence,  the  fear  of  the  prisoners  grew.  Would 
his  influence  prevail  against  that  of  Almagro  (as 
the  Englishman  was  known  to  the  Califomians) 
and  the  vengeful  Ballesto?.  or  would  a  few  hours 
later  see  the  attempt  of  the  morning  carried  to  a 
bloody  ccaclusion?  I'here  was  not  a  man  but 
dreaded  what  the  day  might  bring  forth.  Many 
of  them  were  already  planning  resistance. 

The  building  was  bare  of  comforts;  there  were 
neither  beds  nor  blankets;  the  wounds  of  the 
injured  had  not  been  dressed  since  theii*  arrival 
from  Chino,  two  days  before.  Carroll  lay  on  the 
naked  earthen  floor,  breathing  heavily;  the  kindly 
attempts  of  Willard  and  Harbin  to  revive  him 
had  proved  ineffectual.  As  the  sim  climbed  noon- 
high,  there  was  no  sign  of  preparation  for  the 
midday  meal. 

194 


THE  SNARL  OP  THE  WOLF        ,95 

Suddenly  the  door  was  darkened  by  the  black- 
robed  fipire  of  a  priest.    As  he  ente,cd, ;  .  drew 

Do  any  of  you  wish  to  confe«?"  he  inqui^. 

fa,^  If  tK  •  *"**  *■"'  '°"°'^  Ws  words,  the 
t^r  ^'  ?"r«".i»>«»-  Hi,  question  seemed 
to  bear  homble  significance. 

by"^me^^"  T""* "  ^'""^hn^m.  Roubidouz 
by  name,     de  end  come  quick  now,-dey  »oin' 

It^l""    ^  "^-  ™«  ^«"  ^  ^  ^"^ot 

"No  no,"  protested  Padre  Estenaga,  "my 
~m«g  here  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  mUnt^ 
^e  government  m  regard  to  you.  I  heard  that 
.^e  of  you  were  sick  and  wounded,  and  thought 
that  my  services  might  be  needed  " 

h.^**'*!:!^  ^*'  °'  ^""^'^  recumbent  figure. 

^^Z.f°^'^,'°  ^-  '""'""<*  ^y  WiUard.  who 
raplamed  m  a  low  tone:  "Lieutenant  CarroU  ot 
GUhe's  command.  He'sinabad  way-W™ 
the  head.  We  had  to  cany  him  fr^n  the  ritS.™ 
The  pr,est  looked  into  the  face  of  the  uncon- 
soous  man.  noted  his  flushed  cheeks  and  hoar^ 
brea  hmg.  and  nodded.  Then  he  ran  his  ^ 
dow^y  around  the  room,  as  if  counting  the  numbS 

humed  out  of  the  room.    Through  the  open  door 
madly  down  the  gulch,  toward  the  pueblo 


196  THB  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

"He  it  lure  in  A  big  hurry,  getting  out  ot'  here. 
I  mm  still  mooch  icare,  me,"  and  Roubidoux,  itill 
full  of  gloomy  forebodings,  regretted  that  he  had 
not  taken  advantage  of  the  opportunity  to  avail 
himself  of  the  services  of  the  church. 

It  was  well  after  midday,  and  all  inquiries  I 
regard  to  food  had  been  met  by  the  disdainful 
shrugs  of  the  guards.    A  voice  at  the  door,  rich 
with  the  ful    iccent  of  old  Spain,  caused  Harbin 
to  start. 

"I  guess  you  are  right,  Roubidoux,"  he  admitted 
despairingly.  "There's  that  damned  Spaniard 
again.  Hear  the  old-country  twang?  Palera 
has  been  overruled  at  headquarters.  Prepare 
for  the  worst,  boys.  Rush  the  guards  as  they 
enter  the  door,  and  try  to  get  their  guns.  We'll 
die  fighting,  anyway.*' 

But  Harbin  was  mistaken.  It  was  Don  Eulogio 
de  Celis,  a  Spaniard,  a  long  resident  in  the  pueblo, 
who  entered  the  r  x)m,  accompanied  by  Arillo 
and  an  English  doctor,  named  "Richard  Den. 
The  latter  hurried  at  once  toward  Cirroll,  and 
busied  himself  administering  restoratives. 

Don  Jos6  Antonio  stood  silent,  his  fine  face  red 
with  sudden  anger  as  his  full  gaze  took  in  the 
bare  room,  the  naked  earthen  floor,  the  anxiety 
on  the  faces  of  the  captives.  Turning  quickly 
to  the  door,  he  shouted  a  sharp  command,  and  a 
dozen  servants  led  by  Mariano  entered,  bearing 


I 


THE  SNARL  OP  THE  WOLF       ,„ 
^^btankeu,  «d  Udceu  »f  food  fo,  the 

«S.ilf  .^v"  ".^y  ''*"  ''*««>•"  the  Don 
^Z^  '  ""*^'"'*'«>'''«»n  Padre  Estenaga 
of  your  capture,  and  the  condition  of  the  pri^ 
I»^d  not  have  tao„„  «^„,  being  abseM  ^ 
an  hour  ago  at  the  outpoet  at  Palo,  VerdT 
And  that-that  of  this  nxMrnng.  Holy  Mott« 
;^.  _*«ne  and  a  reproach  to'U  1^  „d  o^i 

to^i^t^Tl!'*^  "'*  indignation,  and  as  if 
to  relieve  his  feelmgs.  he  turned  quickly  to  the 
P«rd^who  had  clustered  inqui^tivdy  ab^ 
-    S 1°";.""?  ""^  '"*"  "  »nte^P?ul 

t  W«r?f  ?  "^w  ""y-  ^*"'  "  «  half 
k  i^l^  ',  °""T'''  *•  ""JO^J.  with  an 
«..Jarrassed  smile,  as  he  noted  the  hunery  men 
busy  over  the  baskets  of  food.  "Por  K^TtS 
feUows  must  aU  chew  tobacco.  Huny.  M^ii^ 
to^e  pueblo,  and  bring  a  big  bo^BS^ 

As  his  hand  grasped  CarroH's  in  paniae  the 
hemenant  held  it  fast,  and  his  Hps  utte^^^  ^, 
questionmgword.  "Loreto?" 

For  a  moment  the  face  of  Don  Jos«  Antonio 
fTthw  r"  fi.««ffictmg  emotions.  F^ 
for  the  future  of  his  daughter,  and  regard  Z 


U 


#1 


iqs  the  dons  of  the  old  pueblo 

the  man  whose  pain-laden  eyes  lcK>ked  up  at  him 
beseechingly,  battled  within  his  soul. 

"The  good  God  be  merciful  to  us  all,  Senor 
Carroll,"  he  sighed.  "We  are  being  carried  on 
l}y  a  tide  that  cannot  be  controlled.  Whither, 
neither  thou  nor  I  may  know.  What  I  might 
say  avails  but  little.  It  is  not  for  me  to  decide, 
but  for  the  good  God,  who  they  say  is  also  the 
God  of  battles.  We  are  all  in  His  hands.  Think 
of  it  not  at  all.  Rest  and  sleep.  Doctor  Den 
shall  come  to  you  each  day  till  you  are  recovered. 
I  shall  tell  my  daughter  that  you  are  now  in  no 
danger,"  he  added,  with  a!  forced  reserve,  "and 
that  you  inquired  for  her."  Formal  as  his  words 
seemed,  they  implied  much. 

He  turned  to  Willard.  "My  dear  Don  Benito, 
let  yoiu"  mind  and  the  minds  of  your  men  be  at 
ease.  Not  only  are  you  safe,  but  you  will  receive 
henceforth  the  usage  that  all  civilized  nations 
accord  to  prisoners  of  war." 

Arillo  spoke  truly.  Thereafter  the  prisoners 
had  no  cause  to  complain  of  their  treatment. 
MacNamara  and  Ballestos  were  both  prisoners 
in  the  carcel,  by  the  order  of  Flores.  The  com- 
mandant, though  ambitious  and  vainglorious,  had 
many  of  the  fine  ideals  of  the  Spanish  gentle- 
man. Only  MacNamara's  ingenious  defense  had  • 
saved  him  from  suspicion.  Exonerating  Bal- 
lestos,   the    secret    agent    boldly    assimied   all 


THE  SNARL  OF  THE  WOLF        199 

responsibility  for   the   aflfair.    He   pointed   out 
that  the  liien  were  for  the  most  part  naturalized 
Mexicans,  captured  with  arms  in  their  hands 
fighting  against  a  land  that  had  given  them  a 
home,  and  that  he,  during  his  military  service 
m  Europe,  had  seen  men  shot  for  less.    Moreover 
he  claimed  that  he  had  taken  a  hasty  response  of 
Flores,  "Dispose  of  them  as  you  see  fit,"  to  mean 
that  he  was  to  use  his  own  judgment  in  the 
matter  of  hfe  and  death. 
"Fool,"  roared  Flores  in  a  towering  passion, 
I  thought  you  were  asking  where  the  prisoners 
should  be  quartered." 

"Take  them  both  away."  The  commandant 
waved  his  hand  disgustedly  toward  Ballestos 
and  the  Englishman.  "Keep  them  in  close  con- 
finement until  further  orders." 

But  of  this  the  prisoners  knew  nothing.  As  the 
days  dragged  on,  they  could  glean  but  little  news 
from  the  close-mouthed  guards  as  to  the  condition 
of  affairs  in  the  pueblo.  Gillie,  they  knew,  stiU 
held  the  hill,  for  they  could  hear  occasionally 
the  desultory  booming  of  the  escopetas,  and  the 
answering  crack  of  the  rifles. 

Commandant  Flores  himself,  accompanied  by 
Hugo  Vanuela,  trotted  into  the  hollow  one 
afternoon.  Taking  Benito  Willard  aside,  he 
addressed  him  in  a  mandatory  tone. 

"Do  thou,  Don  Benito,  write  to  that  fool  on 


5.1 L. 


300  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

the  hill  yonder  a  letter  advising  him  to  surrender. 
On  my  honor  as  a  Christian  and  a  gentleman,  I 
desire  to  avoid  further  bloodshed.  But  since 
the  skirmish  at  the  foot  of  the  hill  a  few  nights 
ago,  many  of  my  men  have  been  drinking,  and 
vowing  that  they  will  attack  him  whether  I  will 
or  no.  It  is  impossible  for  the  man  to  hold  out. 
He  has  no  supplies,  nor  any  means  of  geti  ing  any. 
He  can  expect  no  assistance  for  months.  We 
wish  the  pueblo  to  be  rid  of  his  accursed  presence. 
Write  this  as  coming  from  thyself,  Don  Benito. 
You  kno\.  I  am  speaking  the  truth." 

Willard  nodded.  "I  reckon  you  're  right,  com- 
mandant. Gillie  can't  do  good  here,  cooped  up 
on  that  hill.  There  is  no  reason  for  him  to  be  as 
important  as  George  Washington,"  he  commented 
dryly,  as  he  hastily  scribbled  the  note  and  handed 
it  to  Flores. 

Lieutenant  Carroll,  seated  on  the  grass,  his 
bandaged  head  resting  against  an  oak,  looked  up 
to  find  himself  gazing  into  the  bronzed  face  of 
Vanuela.  Hugo's  eyes  were  full  of  insolent 
merriment  as  he  stared  down  at  the  reclining  man. 

"So-o,"  he  sneered,  "can  it  be  the  Senor  Carroll, 
the  protector  of  the  helpless,  the  friend  of  the 
oppressed?  No  doubt  you  found  my  pistol-butt 
somewhat  hard,  but  such  is  the  fortune  of  war. 
Is  there  any  message  you  would  wish  to  send  to 
your  friends  in  the  pueblo.?" 


THE  SNARL  OP  THE  WOLF       ,oi 

sin??"..^^^  **  ^'  ^'  face  set  in  an  expres- 
sion of  utter  disgust,  but  he  made  no  r^ly  ^ 

Perchance."  went  on  Vanuela   "it^n^'w  u 

i^«e  might  be  a  message  to  a  fair  lady-a  love 
note*,  I  would  be  honored  to  so  si^e  you  " 
At  the  man's  deliberate,  taunting  words,  i 
^^m^.aous  t,  ,  .„  h,  a,e  fa«  of  the  lie^tSLI 
paled  with  mdignation.  He  would  have  hked 
IfT'  e      "f°«  ^'^  ^""  his  hZ^ 

Resting  hi;  If  hT^^IC^:  Sn^eT 

"The  gente  de  razon,  Vanuela    choooA  fi,«- 
|».pany  carefully.    -mWe  is  no;  a  :^'';" 
Spanish  blood  in  the  pueblo  who  would  Se  a 

t'nisXLt--^*'"^''-"--^-- 

.ilr*^  '"'  *''*  "°'  "="""8  'one  of  the  lieutenant 
not  the  angry  flash  in  his  dark  blue  evfn^ 

^  «  ins  face  that  hurt;  it  '^'  Zl' 2^1 

fcdl^J".'  "^'^  "^  P'««d  beneath  ^f 
to  Z^  ""Passiveness  of  Hugo  Vanuela  and 
for  the  moment  cut  his  very  soul.    For  onc«  in 


';.•    !'5'i 


ao2  THE  DONS  OF  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 


hii,  life  his  self-possession  vanished.  He  ground 
his  teeth  in  a  paroxysm  of  rage,  and  his  face 
twisted  into  an  expression  almost  demoniacal. 
With  bitter  hate,  he  hissed  out  a  foul  epithet,  and 
cantered  away  after  Commandant  Flores. 

"What  news  from  the  pueblo?"  asked  Carroll 
when,  a  few  hours  later,  Servolo  Palera  rode  up 
and  dismounted  at  the  door  of  the  prisoners' 
quarters. 

"Glorious  news — pardon  me — I  mean  welcome 
news  for  us.  Captain  Gillie  will  evacuate  the 
city." 

The  prisoners  came  rushing  to  the  door,  full  of 
eager  questions  and  glad  words  of  welcome  for 
Servolo. 

"Yes,"  went  on  Palera;  "Captain  Gillie  has 
hearkened  to  the  advice  of  Don  Benito  Willard. 
The  terms  of  Commandant  Flores  were  generous. 
The  Americans  are  to  be  allowed  to  march  peace- 
ably to  the  beach  at  San  Pedro,  where  Sefior 
Gillie  has  promised  us  he  will  surrender  his  horses 
and  cannon.  He  also  agrees,  on  his  word  of 
honor,  to  embfj-k  on  the  first  ship  that  comes  to 
port.  Even  now  is  he  marching  out.  Do  you 
wish  to  go  to  the  top  of  the  hill?  You  can  then 
see  them  as  they  pass  down  the  river  road.  The 
guards  will  accompany  you." 

Gladly  the  prisoners  availed  themselves  of  the 
privilege.    In  the  clear  California  air  they  could 


THE  SNARL  OF  THE  WOLF        ,03 

S  'ttlf^'  f '•<»««'«'  ««mblmg  down  the 
muade,  then  lost  to  view  as  they  rode  thiourfi 

^Te1*^^*'°-    ThelastoftheS 
Passrf  toe  Amen<an«  womid  into  the  open  road 

hltmg  a.r,  and  the  stars  and  stripes  were  proudly 
unfurled  asrfin  defiance  of  the  bo^y  of  CalSoS 
^.tlr''"^^^-  FaintlyLosstoe™^ 
Sfclffn" r  ^  *e«»«d  of  prolonged  Cheer. 
me  c  me  to  the  pnsoners  on  the  ridge.    Slowly 

rw  ,?^;r?-  ^°"°™S  another  outbu^t  of 
cheers,  the  Mexican  tricolor  took  its  place 

fh^  V^^^  ^^  *=^"-  *^^  Ws  hat  in 
the  a^,  w.th  a  glad  triumphant  cheer,  and  then 
^d  to  the  silent  prisoners  with  his  JZ 

grJ^nrS"'""^^"""""^"^"^™ 

hilV^l  ^f  '?^'"'  "y  ^y"  ^'-i  Carroll,  laying 
Ins  hand  affecfaonately  on  the  other's  shoji^ 
Cheer  whJe  yet  you  may,  because  there  wiU 
surely  come  a  time  when  you  camiot." 

Durmg  the  weary,  monotonous  weeks  that 
oUowed,  Kttle  news  of  Loreto  reache^^S 
^ough  more  than  once  seiioras  Willard  and 
Harbm  came  to  the  camp  with  comforts  for  their 
husbands  Always  they  greeted  Cam-H  kin^T 
then-  dark  eyes  soft  with  secret  sympathy 


»:.:^K«zjwri»iJife 


L£ 


ao4    THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

^^  "Ah,  Sefior  CarroU,"  Sefiora  WUIard  whispered, 
"the  Sefiora  Arillo—she  is  terribly  angry.  She 
has  discovered  what  happened  the  morning  Loreto 
came  with  us  to  the  rivet  shore.  I  have  tried 
in  vain  to  reach  Loreto,  but  the  sefiora— she  is 
clever;  she  trusts  me  not.  When  I  go  to  the 
Arilio  home,  always  is  Loreto  hidden.  Jos6 
and  Manuel  are  with  the  soldiers;  Delfina  and 
Mariano  would  not  dare  disobey  the  sefiora. 
Foolish  woman  that  she  is,"  she  added,  as  she 
cast  a  loving  look  at  her  husband,  "she  does  not 
know  what  good  husbands  Americans  are." 

"Something  is  up,  lieutenant,"  commented 
Don  Benito,  after  one  of  these  visits.  "Don't 
be  surprised  if  you  hear  cannonading  at  any  time. 
Don  Jos6  Antonio,  the  cannon,  and  the  gun  crew 
l2h  the  pueblo  an  hour  ago,  going  in  the  direction 
of  San  Pedro.  Lordy!  Lordy!  but  I  hope  it  is 
Stockton.  He'll  sure  make  short  work  of  this 
silly  fuss." 


CHAPTER  XX 

AN  UNKNOWN  FRIEND 

QNE  night,  as  CarroU  was  drifting  off  to  sleeo 
y  the  mutter  of  voices  at  the  door  awoke  h^* 
and  he  sat  up  with  a  start  a  „«  1  ^^^' 
face  an«!  fi«^,™  ,   *    ^  ^^^^  ^^cer  whose 

tT^dd't^sr".?  ^  'T  *°"^'  -  thoX^shSg 

to  avoid  waking  the  other  sleepers:  ^ 

l-ieutenant  Carroll?" 

••Here."  he  responded  wonderingly. 

cf^n^V"  ^^^^'"P^y  nie  at  once." 
t^arroU  s  heart  jumped  with  jov     "Of  ,.«, 

"No  '•  answered  the  officer  shortly. 
.It  ■•^•tenant  stopped,  one  shoe  stiU  in  his 

mmea.    Make  haste;  time  presses." 

Strangely  puznied,  he  followed  the  officer  and 
his^gged  escort  up  the  tree^bowered  hoU^  ^ 


With  his  eyes  he  measured  the  sHght  figure 


of 


ao6  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

the  Califomian  striding  ahead  of  him.  In  a 
hand-to-hand  conflict  he  believed  he  could  master 
him,  secure  his  sword,  run  him  through,  and  then, 
blade  in  hand,  fight  on  <;ill  he  had  routed  the 
Indians,  or  a  bullet  from  an  escopeta  brought  the 
end.  Carroll  had  fully  recovered  from  the  effects 
of  the  blow  on  the  head,  and  he  felt  his  muscles 
harden  and  his  heart  beat  faster  as  he  pictured  the 
possible  struggle  soon  to  come.  As  they  came 
to  an  open  spot  in  the  vale,  he  edged  close  to  the 
officer,  his  eye  on  the  sword  hilt. 

"Where  are  you  taidng  me?"  he  demanded,  as 
he  came  to  a  halt. 

"Have  no  fear,  seflor;  no  harm  is  intended  you," 
said  the  Califomian,  as  he  smiled  reassuringly. 
Carroll  knew  intuitively  that  as  far  as  the  man 
himself  was  concerned,  he  spoke  the  truth. 

They  passed  the  last  of  the  scrub  oaks,  and 
as  they  climbed  the  slope  a  lone  adobe  loomed 
up  before  them,  gleaming  ghostly  white  in  the 
moonlight. 

"My  orders  were  to  conduct  you  here,  where 
you  will  remain.    Rations  will  be  brought  you 
from  day  to  day." 
"By  whose  orders?" 

"Carajo!    But  you  ask  many  questions.    I  do 
not  inquire  about  orders;  I  obey  them.     I  served 
three  years  in  the  Mexican  army." 
He  threw  up  his  head  with  a  gesture  of  pride. 


AN  UNKNOWN  FRIEND 


307 
Af^all.  CarroU,  though  an  officer.  „as  but  . 

The  door  was  thrown  open,  the  blankets  carried 
wjthm.  and  the  Califonuan  bade  hun  atS 

CarroU  sat  long  at  the  door  in  thouehtful 
^oe.  whde  the  guards  lounged  a  few  ^Tf  Zf 
^ttmg  and  smoking  as  if  unconscious  ^S 

ES  cIm*!*""  ^^"^  Ahnag™  n^ 
Bail^tos  could  be  responsible  for  his  present 
atuation  for  the  lieutenant  had  heard  toul 
Palera  of  the  action  of  Flores.    Thetto^t^f 

It  be  that  he  had  separated  him  from  the  other 

lerenoe  from  themf    Why  the  officer's  reticence 
»  regard  to  the  source  of  his  orders?    toHS 
selectjon  of  this  deserted,  unvisited  ho^'^  Se 
had  h^rd  of  Vanuela's  company  of  todiaS 
CouU  these  men  be  fmm  his  coVmind? 

Would  the  senor  be  so  kind  as  to  oblige  us 
with  some  tobacco?" 

1.?"^^  i°°^^  "P  searchingly  into  the  man's 
face  but  he  could  discern  there  no  sinister^s 

stupX*^*^'    "°"^'    ""'    "^-^    ^^^^ 
"Much  thanks;  the  sefior  is  very  kind,"  said 


ao8  THE  DONS  OF  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

the  barefooted  man,  as  he  took  the  piece  of  twisted 
sailor's  tobacco.  "Ah— American  tobacco.  I  have 
never  used  any  of  it.  They  say  it  is  very  good. 
It  will  be  a  treat.  A  thoiisand  thanks,  sefior." 
Amid  so  much  treachery,  Carroll's  heaxr.  went 
out  to  the  simple,  guileless  fellow. 

"Give  all  the  boys  some,"  he  said,  as  he  handed 
over  the  entire  roll. 

Still  puzzled,  and  dreading  the  worst,  for  there 
was  the  greater  part  of  the  night  yet  before  him, 
the  lieutenant  wrapped  himself  in  a  blanket  on 
the  floor,  well  out  of  rfmge  of  the  open  doorway. 
He  laid  beside  him,  within  easy  reach  of  his  hand, 
a  stout  oaken  cudg.  *  he  had  found  on  the  floor. 

In  spite  of  his  wacchfuhiess,  he  was  drifting  off 
to  sleep  when  a  piercing  scream  of  terror  caused 
him  to  spring  to  his  feet.  Grasping  his  club,  and 
rushing  to  the  door,  he  was  in  time  to  see  two  of 
the  guards  in  wild  flight  down  the  hill,  while  the 
other  had  dropped  his  gun  and  stood  transfixed 
by  fright,  his  arms  extended,  his  pabns  outspread 
as  if  to  ward  off  some  invisible  horror. 

"Jesus  Maria!  God  in  Heaven!"  gurgled  the 
man.  "TLe  Black  Matador!  The  Black  Mat- 
ador!" Then,  recovering  the  control  of  his 
limbs,  with  a  shriek  of  fear  he  disappeared  down 
the  ravine. 

Amazed,  the  American  turned  in  the  direction 
of  the  man's  gaze. 


AN  UNKNOWN  FRIEND  ,09 

Fran  behind  the  corner  of  the  hut  came  a 
n,ount«d  ™u.,  hi,  horse-,  feet  filing  noS^ 
on  the  dry  ground.    In  in>ite  of  himself  ^e 

lear  It  was  mdeed  the  Black  Matador  as 
Loreto  had  described  him.  He  wore  ^^ 
n«md  hat  bobbed  at  the  sides,  the  shon.':S^ 
Cloak.  Somber,  .-pectral.  silent,  his  face  was 
hidden  by  a  cloth  as  black  as  his  raiment-blS 
as  the  jct-black  steed  he  bestrode. 

anf  wal:S"«iir^,'^"  ^"'^*'  "»  "^^'- 
"lu    waited.    The  strange   visitor   turned   his 

^,1",?  Tt"^  "^  """  «  beckoninT^ti^ 
CanoU  hesitated,  his  mind  a  wild  flurry  of  how 

What  rneant  tha  fantastic  masquerade?  Was 
he  fnend  or  foe?  Yet  the  rider^as  alme  a^ 
^nowholding out  both  hands  to show^^t 

With  the  reckless  impetuosity  of  youth 
OUTOU  followed  him  over  the  rii,  dow^Tnto 
another  hoUow.  toward  a  black  smudge  of  tWck 

^  his  head  from  the  grass,  and  his  inquiring 

o^  rode  to  ;he  hor«='s  head,  unfastened  the 

Z^tTJ^  ""f'-  *™'  '™^S  his  steed 
about,  he  motioned  to  the  empty  saddle. 

In  God's  name,"  cried  CanoU,  "speaki" 


a  to    THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

Suddenly  across  his  mind  there  flashed  remem- 
brance of  the  night  he  had  met  Marshall  in  his 
strange  masquerade  near  the  old  bull  ring.  In 
the  set  of  the  black-swathed  shoulders  he  believed 
he  recognized  the  familiar  figure  of  the  frontiers- 
man. His  heart  lifted  in  great  reUef,  and  he 
ahnost  laughed  aloud  at  the  sheer  audadty  of 
the  scheme. 

"Marshall—Jim."  he  cried,  "drop  this  mas- 
querade!   I  recognize  you." 

A  hoarse  sound,  sepulchral  erough,  neither  a 
chrtckle  nor  a  sob,  came  ftom  the  horseman.  The 
faceless  head  shook  with  a  negative  motion.  With 
his  upraised  arm,  the  black  figure  described  a 
wide  circle  to  the  east,  and  finally  held  it  firmly, 
pointing  in  the  direction  of  San  Pedro,  his  fin- 
gers vibrating  meaningly.  The  American  easily 
grasped  his  meaning.  He  was  to  make  a  wide 
detour  to  avoid  the  Califomian  pickets,  and  then 
ride  south  to  San  Pedro  and  the  beach,  where 
he  would  find  Gillie  and  his  men. 

"I  understand  you,  Jim,"  he  said,  as  he  sprang 
to  the  saddle. 

Without  warning,  the  stranger  brought  his 
quirt  down  on  the  haunches  of  Carroll's  horse, 
and  it  leaped  forward  in  affright.  For  a  moment 
the  lieutenant  struggled  with  the  frenzied  beast, 
then,  as  he  recovered  control,  he  glanced  back  at 
the  other. 


AN  UNKNOWN  FRIEND  an 

The  drooping  shoulders  were  heaving  quietly, 
while  muffled  sounds,  as  of  hard-drawn  breathing 
^e    from    beneath    the    cloth-covered    face! 
Wondenng  at  the  frontiersman's  reticence,  now 
that  the  purpose  of  the  ghostly  masquerade  was 
accomphshed.  he  caUed  again,  surprise  in  his  tones. 
Do  you  not  ride  with  me,  Jim?" 
Again  the  negative  shake  of  the  black  head 
CwroU  was  tempted  to  laugh  aloud.    True,  he 
had  forgotten  that  the  Black  Matador  must  ride 
alone.    It  would  indeed  be  out  of  keeping  for 
him  to  nde  "cheek  by  jowl"  with  a  living  man. 
There  were  Califomian  pickets  to  terrify  before 
MarshaU  could  win  back  to  the  beach.    To  ride 
together  would  indeed  spoil  the  effect  of  the 
appantion.    Again   Carroll   laughed  to  himself. 
Yet  he  was  not  satisfied  as  to  his  deliverer's 
a/"*v  ^,;    ^^  ^^  "^^^  Mar^all  to  be  silent,  for 
Marshall   was   a  man   who   scorned   deception. 
What  was  the  mystery  behind  it  all?    The  very 
hoofbeats  of  his  steed  were  unnatural  in  sound. 
He  walked  his  moimt  and,  leaning  in  the  saddle 
discovered  that  its  hoofs  were  wrapped  in  padded 
cloth. 

His  heart  grew  light  as  the  miles  fell  away 
behind  him,  until  he  remembered  that  each 
hoofbeat.  while  it  brought  him  nearer  to  friends 
and  safety,  took  him  farther  away  from  the 
woman  he  loved. 


^1 


,^ii,| 


I' 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE  CANNON  OP  THE  SENORA 

A  CANNON'S  roar  crashed  out  on  the  sensitive 
*■  morning  air,    and   echoed   back   from  the 
quiet  gray  land  sweUs.    John  Carroll  awoke,  and 
rubbed  his  eyes. 

It  was  chill  morning,  with  the  sea-mist  still 
clmging  to  the  land  and  the  sun  an  impotent 
disk  of  scarlet  hanging  hand  high  above  the 
horizon.  CarroU's  gaze  brought  him  no  sign  of 
conflict.  There  was  no  life  on  the  winding  road- 
way, the  roUing  plain,  nor  the  mist-robed  shrub- 
bery. While  he  waited,  desperately  cold  and 
hungry,  and  aquiver  with  eagerness  to  ascertain 
the  cause  of  the  cannon  shot,  he  peered  cautiously 
through  the  scrub  oaks  where  he  had  spent  the. 
night  wrapped  in  his  saddle  blanket. 

The  panorama  of  the  night  before  began  to 
unroll.  One  by  one  he  reviewed  the  incidents  of 
his  escape,  beginning  with  the  strange  march  up 
the  hill  to  the  deserted  adobe;  the  mysterious 
horseman  in  black;  his  own  hurried  ride  to  the 
eastward;  the  challenge,  and  the  shot  in  the 
darkness— a  shot  that  had  sent  his  steed  to 
the  ground,  kicking  in  agony.  Breathless  with 
suspense,  from  behind  a  hillock  he  had  watched  the 
Califomians  gathered  around  his  dying  horse. 

212 


THE  CANNON  OF  THE  SENORA  .13 

Sad  turned  cloudy;  the  sky  .«,  starless   and  for 
aught  he  knew  he  might  be  h.-.-vir^e  ba.Jc  toward 

«  1  t'    ^"""^  ""^  everywhere  were  the 
watchful  horsemen,   and  a  hundred  times  h- 
had  narrowly  escaped  recapture  only  by  lying 
flat  on  the  ground  as  they  tmtted  ^t  in^e 
darkness.    Worn  out  by  his  futile  eff^s  to  fed 
a  mam  ravme  that  led  toward  the  sea    and 
•^-mg  that  if  morning  dawned  while^;  waf 
without  means  of  conceahnent  his  capture  ^ 
oertam.  he  had  cr^t  into  a  clump  of  XiT^ 
hoUow  and  resigned  himself  to  sleep      ^  "  * 
In  front  of  him.  a  few  feet  away,  lay  the  rtrnd 
a  wmdmg  strip  of  yeUow  ribboniig  aLy  JX 

P^with  blossommg  mustard.    That  he  could 

s«aweed.    High  above  him  wheeled  the  white 

Oalifomian,  and  CarroU  drew  himself  mnr» 
dosdy  behind  the  bushes.  Therid^oUr^ 
by  a  score  of  others,  walking  their  horses  and 
chattmg  carelessly.  Don  Jos«  Antonio  i^e 
^one  apparently  deep  in  thought;  behind  him, 
Servolo,  engaged  in  an  animated  conversatio.^ 


f 


t 


1 1 


m 

ill' 


314  THE  DONS  OF  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

with  Jos6.  In  their  rear  fluttered  the  Mexican 
tacolor,  borne  proudly  aloft  by  Don  Francisco 
Cota.  Plugo  Vanuela,  astride  a  big  bay  horse 
was  glancing  upward  at  the  flag,  scornful  amuse- 
ment showing  in  his  face.  They  went  by  ahnost 
withm  touching  distance  of  the  fugitive. 

CarroU  noted  the  passing  of  the  brass  four- 
poimder.  It  was  mounted  on  the  front  wheels 
and  *3ngue  of  a  wagon,  and  drawn  by  a  dozen 
rawhide  riatas  attached  to  the  saddle-horns  of 
the  Califomians.  Close  beside  it  rode  Manuel 
his  young  face  bright  with  an  air  of  proud  pro^ 
pnetorship.  For  the  fame  of  Senora  Arillo's 
exploit  had  gone  far  and  wide,  and  the  old  field 
piece  had  aheady  been  dubbed  "the  Cannon  of 
the  Sefiora." 

The  group  came  to  a  halt.  The  main  body  of 
the  command,  nearly  a  hundred  mounted  men, 
cantered  up,  and  at  a  quick  order  from  AriUo 
scattered  over  the  neighboring  swells.  The  gun 
was  swung  around  into  position,  and  as  quickly 
loaded  and  rammed.  Vanuela  grasped  the  tongue 
and  lifted  it  from  the  ground,  while  Palera 
kneelmg  between  the  wheels,  sighted  it  at  the 
oncommg  Americans,  hidden  from  Carroll's  view. 

"Higher,  Seiior  Vanuela,"  warned  Palera;  "a 
little  lower  now— there  now,  Manuel,  my  boy  " 

Manuel  puffed  his  cigar  to  a  coal,  and  touched 
it  to  the  vent.    An  echoing  roar,  and  the  drifting 


ig 


THE  CANNON  OF  THE  SENORA  215 
smoke  hid  for  a  moment  the  group  of  men  and 
them  bendmg  forward  in  their  saddles,  their 
th^So?  "^  ^^^  ^°  °°^  ^^  ^^^*  °^ 

"Curses  on  that  powder,"  groaned  Cota,  the 
stendard   bearer.    "It   does   nothing   but   puff 
See  the  baU  roll.    Tiy  the  good  powder."     "^ 

From  dose  at  hand  came  the  mocking  shouts 
of  the  unharmed  enemy.  With  incredible  quick- 
ness the  gun  crew  leaped  to  their  horses  and  the 
^nd  gaUoped  away,  the  gun  straining  and  leaping 
wildly  at  the  mta  ends.  Carroll  riskily  worJned 
hunsdf  forward  to  where  he  could  see  both  up 
and  down  the  roadway.  :;>  could  hear  the 
measured  tread  of  many  then  over  the 

W  nse  came  the  .\mericans,  lour  hundred  strong 
They  were  on  foot,  marching  in  a  hoDow  square 
and  CarroU  noted  with  surprise  that  they  were 
armed  with  lances  as  weU  as  with  carbines 

"nie  watchful  man  in  the  bushes  was  in  a  glow 
of  hopeful  expectancy;  in  a  few  momente  the 
mvadmg  force  would  be  opposite  him  and  he 
could  easily  rejoin  them.  He  glanced  up  the  trail 
tow-ard  the  Califomians.  As  he  did  so.  the  gun 
agam  belched  forth  its  cloud  of  smoke. 

But  this  time  there  were  no  derisive  cheers 
from  the  advancing  force.  He  saw  a  sailor  on 
the  comer  of  the  square  go  down  with  a  yeU  of 


r 


2i6  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

agony.  Around  the  wounded  man  the  Americans 
crowded,  while  the  ofEicers  shouted  imheeded 
orders.  Slowly  they  resumed  the  square  forma- 
tion, as  if  in  momentary  expectation  of  a  charge 
from  the  mounted  enemy.  In  the  center  of  the 
square  Gillie,  Somers,  and  several  other  omcers 
whom  Carroll  could  not  recognize,  were  holding 
an  excited  conference,  while  from  above  came  the 
glad,  triumphant  singing  of  the  Califomians. 

"  No  stranger  rules  our  fathers'  land 
His  flag  ixji  dust  is  Iain; 
No  more  we  bow  to  his  command, 
We  Sons  of  Ancient  Spain." 

Could  it  be  possible  that  the  Americans  were 
about  to  retreat?  If  they  did,  his  recapture  was 
only  a  matter  of  hours.  Suddenly  he  sprang 
to  his  feet,  the  light  of  a  desperate  chance  in  his 
face.  He  was  halfway  between  the  two  forces, 
but  somewhat  nearer  to  the  Califomians.  Press- 
ing his  cap  firmly  on  his  head,  he  darted  out  of 
the  oaks  and  raced  madly  along  the  level  road. 

The  sharp  eye  of  Vanuela  noted  the  sudden 
appearance  of  the  flying  imiformed  figure  as  it 
shot  into  view  and,  followed  by  jos6,  he  spurred 
his  horse  after  him.  Carroll,  covering  the  ground 
in  mighty  leaps,  glanced  back  for  an  instant. 
They  were  almost  upon  him,  Vanuela's  lance  held 
loWf  his  face  cruelly  gleeful,  his  hand  steady. 
In   the  single  moment  of  Carroll's  backward 


THE  CANNON  OP  THE  SENOEA  „, 
gUnce,  Hugo  had  recognized  the  insolent  youne 
officer  of  the  stockade.  Hardly  thirty  feet^v 
^  Vanuela  when  CarroU's  fo^t  caught  fa  a  J^t 
of  gmss  and  he  went  sprawling  on  hi^  faS. "  *^' 

fomard"if »  "onient  Jos*.  spurring  his  mount 
lorward  m  a  mighty  bound,  bumped  sidewise 
agamst  the  neck  of  Vanuela's  horse.  ^usbgTto 
stagger  and  rear  in  wild  confusion. 

thou  mS^*^^  S""°'  **°"  '"^S  '«"■  '"'«*  dost 

Jos^,  who  had  recognized  CarroU  from  the 
fi«t  looked  at  Vanuela  in  silence,  his  fa"  coo! 
and  determined,  his  hand  resting  meanteXTn 
tte  p.s  o  butt  in  his  sash.    Fori  moment  a,:" 

e^u^h  M°r"'  r*"'^  '^^-*  »°"«'t  long 
enough  for  CarroU  to  gather  himself  up  and  dash 

P^tmg  toward  the  squar.  that  opened'^to  ^e 

h-WifiL  T^/""*^  ^''^^  ^-  he  found 
hmisdf  bes.de  Marshall,  whose  deadly  rifle  wa, 

M  m  the  direction  of  the  two  io^ 
^Z  r  *ri"''**^  *°  =P^  °°^  think.  He 
strJ:^?"  "^i'^  ^^^'^^^  *«  frontiersman, 
n^f^?  "°  ?''  *°'^S  'he  buUet  from  hi^ 
nfle  kickmg  op  the  dust  on  the  roadway 

Damnation!"  snapped  Marshall.  "I  would 
have  gotten  that  feUow."  Then,  as  he  tS 
to  greet  Carroli.   "Jehosophat.  lieutenLt'lS 


/! 


lis 


218    THE  DONS  OF  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

I  am  goU-dumed  glad  to  see  you."  And  in  a 
lower  voice  he  added,  "But  you  needn't  have 
done  it.  'Twarn't  the  boy  I  was  after;  'twuz 
the  danm  yalla-headed  greaser.  Sech  ain't  by 
no  means  natural,  no  more'n  a  white  crow. 
An'  what  ain't  accordin'  to  natm  ain't  hulsum. 
If  the  Lord  knows  His  business  He  is  goin'  to  give 
me  one  more  chance  to  get  that  varmint  over 
the  sights  before  this  fool  war  is  over." 

A  quick  welcome  from  Somers  and  GilUe— 
there  was  no  time  for  explanations— and  the 
bugle  sounded  the  order  to  advance.  The  square 
moved  on  slowly  over  the  level  ground,  the 
officers  in  the  center,  the  frontiersmen  scattered 
m  a  skirmishing  line.  Irregularly  their  rifles 
spoke  as  they  sighted  a  mounted  enemy  to  the 
right  or  left.  Well  out  of  range,  the  Califomians 
answered  the  shots  with  jeering  waves  of  the 
hand. 

"Here  comes  another  wan  av  thim  doughnuts," 
observed  an  Irish  sailor,  as  he  noted  the  gun  crew 
drawing  away  from  the  cannon. 

A  screeching  roar  close  above  their  heads,  and 
something  dropped  to  the  ground  in  the  center 
of  the  square. 

"Be  jabers,  I'm  dismasted,"  the  Irishman 
remarked,  as  he  mournfully  surveyed  the  remnant 
of  the  lance  shaft  left  in  his  hand. 

The  scattered  frontiersmen  were  running  madly 


THE  CANNON  OF  THE  SENORA    ,19 
toward  the  pm.  firing  as  they  ran.    But  bounding 

Soun^  of  angry  voices  came  fiom  the  right 
Marshan  and  several  of  the  skirnnshers  w«^ 
engaged  m  an  altercation  with  an  offioTof^ 
^TT.  ?*  frontiersmen,  as  the  gj%^ 
fired,  had  thrown  themselves  flat  on  the^ot^? 

as  the  shot  had  passed.  The  Kttle  officer  was 
denouncmg  th«  tactics  of  Marshall  and  hi/:^ 
as  shameful  cowardice. 

"Now  say,  you  young  fellah,  look  ahere  " 
Marshall  was  saying,  "jest  you  keep  yoTS^n 
on,  and  don't  get  excited.    It 's  awful  bad  for  tLe 

ai:,'t  ?•  ""'m°*  ^'^*^-  ^"'^  vototiJlwe 
ell  T.  '^^-  "^  '"^^^  '«^«  'listed  to 
fight,  but  not  to  get  killed  if  we  can  help  it 

noss  sense  m  standmg  up  to  get  shot  at,  when 
you  mjght  jest  as  weU  take  it  easy  and  lie  dl™ 
and  It's  a  whole  dinged  lot  safer     You  17^; 

^•U  d°o  T.°r  ^*  '"'  °"'-  "ffi'^^ 
«e  11  do  all  the  skirmishing  this  fool  army  ieeds 

m_.ts^busmess.    TUs  war  ain't  run  to  s^t^me: 

Disconcerted    by   the  grimiing   faces   of  t>-« 

^nW  r-  '""^  °f'^  «^™  «P  the  attempt  to 
d^plme  them,  and  retired  within  the  squa«. 


1*^ 


.^r^^'''^- 


*  I 


220  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

"Let  Marshall  alone,"  growled  Gillie.  "He 
generally  knows  what  he  is  doing." 

The  captain  had  learned  nuch  in  the  past 
month. 

Again  a  ball  of  white  smoke  burst  in  the  midst 
of  the  Calif ornians;  again  the  skirmishers  ran 
forward.  Close  enough  they  were,  this  time,  to 
bring  down  one  of  the  horses  of  the  gun  crew. 

But  amid  the  gleeful  shouts  of  the  Califomians, 
the  cannon  was  again  whisked  out  of  their  reach. 
To  advance  too  far  from  the  square  was  to  court 
death  on  a  lance  point.  The  fever  of  killing  was 
in  the  veins  of  all. 

Cota,  flaunting  the  flag  defiantly,  was  still 
hovering  recklessly  near  the  skirmishers'  line. 
Gillie  lowered  his  field  glass  and  observed 
quietly,  "I  know  that  man  with  the  flag.  He 
is  no  Califomian,  but  one  of  Willard's  men,— 
Skene,  an  Austrian.  He  has  deserted  to  the 
enemy.  Fire  on  that  fellow  with  the  flag,"  he 
shouted  to  the  skirmishers.  "He's  an  American 
deserter." 

Truly,  with  his  blue  eyes,  fair  face,  and  blond 
hair,  Cota  looked  httle  like  a  Califomian.  A 
fusillade  of  shots  from  the  skirmish  line,  and  the 
flag  staflf  dropped  from  his  hands  and  his  horse 
tumbled  forward  on  its  head,  shot  through  the 
brain.  But  Cota  was  on  his  feet,  racing  away, 
bearing  the  colors  with  him.    After  him  darted 


.'^HE  CANNON  OP  THE  SENORA    aai 

the  skirmishers,  firing  as  they  ran.    Rejoining  his 
comrades  about  the  gun,  Cota  doffed  his  sombrero 
and  bowed  ironically. 

Again  the  cannon  belched.  This  time  the  ball 
struck  the  square  fairly  in  the  center  of  the  front 
rank  cutting  off  a  sailor's  leg  at  the  thigh.  All 
semblance  of  military  formation  was  lost  as 
the  anxious  Americans  gathered  around  the 
injured  man. 

He  was  gazing  in  horror  at  the  blood  spouting 
from  his  severed  limb,  and  babbling  incoherently 
about  home.  A  moment  later  he  gasped,  and 
stiffened  in  death. 

With  bitter  curses  on  their  Ups,  the  frontiersmen 
raced  after  the  enemy,  only  to  find  their  efforts 
balked  by  the  wonderful  celerity  with  which  the 
Califomians  maneuvered  the  gun. 

Stubbornly,  GilUe  and  his  men  held  on.    For 
three  miles  the  Americans  chased  the  flying  field 
piece,  shot  after  shot  landing  in  their  ranks,  till 
at  length,  with  six  men  dead  and  seven  wounded 
a  retreat  was  ordered. 

Wearily  back  to  the  Dominguez  ranch  house 
they  trailed,  tired  with  marching  and  saddened 
by  death. 

Carroll,  walking  by  MarshaU,  told  him  of  his 
escape  and,  as  he  mentioned  the  Black  Matador 
It  was  you.  was  n't  it,  Jim?"  he  inquired. 
MarshaU  seemed  about  to  answer,  but  changed 

18 


'  T 


■*4S  I 


n 


aaa  THE  DONS  OF  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 


"I, 


.1:^ 


I  ii 


He  was  scrutinizing  the  lieutenant 


his  mind, 
curiously. 

"Ain't  the  notion  struck  you,  John,  that 
there  mought  be  a  mighty  good  reason  for  keepin' 
it  a  secret  for  some  one,  or  you'd  been  told 
before?"  suggested  Marshall  cautiously. 

"Why  secrecy  with  me?"  queried  Carroll. 

"The  Black  Matador  had  a  reason,  all  right  — 
all  right.  Don't  you  go  now  to  spoil  his  game. 
John." 

Marshall's  words  gave  no  clew. 

As  if  to  change  the  subject  of  conversation,  he 
recounted  to  Carroll  the  events  of  the  past,  two 
weeks. 

"We  rode  to  the  beach  wich  Arillo's  men  close 
behind  us,  watching  us  like  a  cat  watches  a 
mouse.  When  we  gets  there,  the  greasers  comes 
and  takes  all  our  horses,  and  said  they  wuz  comin' 
the  next  day  for  the  guns.  The  next  morning 
along  comes  the  Vandalia,  a  Boston  trading  ship. 
'Now  hand  over  them  gtms,'  sez  Flores  in  a  note 
he  sends  the  captain,  'and  git  aboard.* 

"But  the  captain,  he  flummoxes  around  day 
after  day,  with  Flores  sending  him  notes  and 
proclamations  every  few  hours  an'  him  always 
givin'  Flores  excuses.  Then  Flores  got  mad  and 
turned  off  the  ditch  that  was  bringing  otu*  water 
supply  down  to  the  beach. 

'I  guess  that  made  the  captain  mad,  for  do  you 


K' 


THE  CANNON  0?  THE  SSSoRyV    ,,3 

'^TZ^l^"^'^^"  **"^'  '<"™«<i  his  voice 
He  knocks  the  trunnion,  off  them  guns.  ITk?, 
them  pounds  rocks  into  their  insideT^d  «jL 
them  mto  the  water  at  low  tide  " 
^ad  he  agreed  to  give  them  up?"  i„qui^ 

"He  said  he'd  leave  them  on  the  beach      T 

••G^V'?f  •  "!?  "'^^  «'  the  frontiersman. 

murtlmVtXT-^-     ■•^--"-haU.you 
'•Naw;  no  mistake  about  it.    Him  and  Someis 
had  a  row.  they  say.    Somer.  would  n't  dol? 
^ause  he  signed  the  paper.    Then  the  capLn 
^d  he  d  arrest  hmi.     'All  right,'  sez  Somers 

here's  my  sword.'  but  the  captain  looked  iTd  of 

t^rt^  ^^^'  °*  *""  «"'^  =°°'«  of  them  sap- 

headed  mannes  to  do  it.    Them  fellahs  wo^d 
stand  on  their  ear  if  he  told  them  to  " 

Under  orcUnary  circumstances  CarroU  would 
have  bnstled  at  Marshall's  reference  to  ^e 
mannes.  but  his  mind  was  now  full  of  GilhVs 
treacherous  conduct  "uues 

^  shame  of  it-the  shame  of  it!"   he 

MarshaU.       So  we  all  went  on  board  the  Vatidatki. 


I;. 


aa4  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

and  in  a  few  days  along  comes  that  S<naHnak  ship 
with  Captain  Mervine  and  about  four  htmdred 
sailors — that 's  Mervine  over  there."  He  pointed 
to  a  tall  officer  marching  at  the  head  of  the 
square. 

"An*  sez  he  to  himself,  sez  Mervine,  'It's  for 
me  to  show  you  fellahs  how  to  fight  greasers. 
Come  on,  boys.'  Mervine  didn't  know  them 
fellahs  had  a  cannon,  leastwise  the  captain 
did  n't  tell  him,  or  he  thought  the  old  gun  would 
be  no  good  after  we  knocked  it  down  the  hill  that 
time.  An'  so  after  makin'  a  lot  of  lances  for  the 
marines  and  sailors  to  have  handy  if  the  greasers 
should  come  down  in  a  charge,  we  starts — and 
here  we  are  now,  gettin*  back  to  the  beach  as  fast 
as  we  can,  with  six  dead  men.  I  use  to  think 
that  the  greasers  were  good  for  nothing  but 
yellin'  and  writin'  proclamations,  but  they  are 
some  fighters,  all  right.  This  old  war  ain't  nm 
to  suit  -ne,  nohow.  When  it 's  over,  I  am  goin'  to 
buy  D'a  a  rancho,  an'  ride  a  white  horse  with 
silver-moimted  saddle,  like  Don  Andreas  Pico. 
I  don't  have  to  soldier  for  twenty-five  a  month 
and  found." 

At  the  Dominguez  Rancho,  Mervine  and 
GilUe  secured  oxen  and  wagons  to  carry  the  dead 
and  wotmded,  and  the  march  to  the  beach  was 
resumed.  Around  them  hovered  the  Califomians, 
but  much  to  the  surprise  of  the  Americans  no 


THE  CANNON  OP  THE  SENORA    «s 

further  attacks  were  made,  and  they  continued 

th!^.r^  |.r"?^^^-  "^^y  ~"^d  not  know 
that  the  Califomians  had  fired  their  last  char£e 
Of  good  powder.  * 

iJ^  f  ^i?""^^  "?  °^  ^"^  """^  ^~"«  into  view, 
they  noted  another  ship  swinging  at  anchor  b^ 

the  Vandalta  and  the  Savannah.  Quickly  the 
news  ran  around  the  square  that  the  Congress,  with 
Commodore  Stockton,  had  arrived,  and  the  men 
oroice  mto  cheers. 

When  they  reached  the  long  yellow  strip  of 
^dy  beach  Gillie,  accompanied  by  CarroU  and 
Somers.  went  at  once  on  board  the  Congress,  the 
^mmodore's  flagship,  where  the  captain  presented 
the  ^blr  '"^^'^  °^  *^^  happenings  in 

"You  say.-  said  Stockton,  "that  Flores.  Arillo. 

whoT.    '°'  ^'  ^l  ^"^""'  ^"^  ^»  th«  others 
who  had  given  us  their  paroles,  are  now  in  arms 

agamst  us?  By  the  Eternal.-  he  roared,  hot 
^h  anger  "the  time  for  leniency  has  passed. 
When  I  get  my  hands  on  those  feUows  I  will 
court-martial  and  hang  every  one  of  them. 
Shootmg  IS  too  honorable  a  death  for  such  men 
Look  at  our  poor  dead  boys  on  the  canvas  there  '' 
Carroll  standing  near,  stared  at  him  in  silent 
hoiTor.  His  face  paled,  and  his  heart  sank 
withm  him. 

Stockton  was  a  man  of  action.    Immediately 


aa6  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

'  the  marines  and  sailors  of  the  three  ships  were 
landed  on  the  beach,  and  under  the  guidance  of 
Carroll  and  Somers  for  two  weeks  they  practiced 
on  the  level  sands  the  unaccustomed  evolutions 
of  land  forces.  At  night  they  returned  to  the  safe 
shelter  of  the  ships,  the  commodore  dreading  a 
night  attack  from  the  Califomians,  whose  watch- 
ful pickets  patrolled  the  neighboring  heights. 

At  last  everything  was  declared  in  readiness. 
There  was  joy  among  the  men,  for  to-morrow 
would  see  them  marching  on  the  rebellious 
pueblo.  But  there  was^  no  joy  in  the  heart  of 
Lieutenant  Jack  Carroll  as  he  moodily  paced  the 
deck.  To  him  the  march  of  to-morrow  meant 
only  an  added  weight  of  woe  and  bitterness. 


CHAPTER  XXII 

THE   CABALLADA  OP  DON  JOSE   ANTONIO 

"P"L^r?f;  ^'^°^°'"  ^^^  ^°"  J°^  Antomo, 
«nt.^  f  l^t  ""'"' ''  *^"  *°  °^^-  Since  I  have 
noted  for  the  last  two  months  much  EngHsh  gold 
o^ent  m  the  pueblo,  and  heard  of  the  BnS 

^ps  at  Monterey.  I  have  been  suspicious.    The 
Picos,  I  beheve.  have  a  hand  in  this.    Ever  since 

^d  to  MacNamara.  they  have  been  friendly  to 
eU^^  t  plan     But  never  wiU  I  con^„t. 

Enff^t,  ""fi  °^^  '^^  ''^^  <>f  heretics. 

England  coerced  the  church  in  Ireland.    If  our 

kmd  must  go  to  another  nation,  i  favor  the 
Amenc^s.  They  are  not  aU  lik.  Captain  Gillie." 
^I^v  ^r.  ,^^^  i^st  brought  to  Arillo  the 
^Img  t^e  of  his  servant,  who.  loitering  in  the 
moonlight  ma  lonely  spot,  had  overhead  two 
men  whom  he  could  not  recognize,  discussing 
a  pkn  the  purport  of  which  was  the  placing  of 
California  under  a  British  protectorate. 

The  mischief  is  now  afoot.    None  knows  how 
soMi  they  may  move.    To  stop  it  we  must  strike. 

^^^"^^  V"^^'  -^^  "^«  ^^h  ^«.  Servolo?'' 
asked  «ie  Don  as  he  threw  his  serape  around 
Inm  and  buckled  on  his  sword  belt 
Palera  nodded  assent.    For  a  moment  AriUo 

«7 


/ 


228  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

hesitated,  a  tender  light  in  his  face,  then,  tato'ng 
a  candle  from  the  table,  he  passed  into  his 
daughter's  room. 

She  lay  breathing  quietly,  her  fair  face  framed 
in  billows  of  lustrous  black  hair.  One  cheek  was 
wet  with  a  single  tear.  As  the  father  bent  over 
to  touch  his  lips  to  her  brow,  she  awoke,  and 
gazed  up  at  him  in  wonder. 

"I  must  ride  to  the  camp  by  San  Pedro  now," 
he  explained.  "Be  of  good  cheer,  but  do  not 
expect  too  much.  I  go  to  do  that  which  may  bring 
thee  much  happiness.  <  I  may  have  good  news 
to-morrow  night." 
"What— what?" 

He  laid  his  hand  wamingly  on  her  lips. 
"Ask  no  questions,  but  pray  for  my  success." 
Only  a  moment  the  two  horsemen  stopped  at 
the  stockade  gate.  Arillo  dismoimted  and  went 
within,  to  return  almost  immediately  with  Benito 
Willard,  who  was  mounted  but  unarmed.  As 
their  hoofbeats  died  away  on  the  road  to  the 
south,  a  heavy  figure  drew  from  out  the  shadow 
of  a  near-by  veranda. 

"So-o-o,  Arillo  rides  with  Don  Benito  to  the 
camp  at  the  Palos  Verdes.  Some  trickery  have 
they  planned.  A  wise  man  was  the  Englishman 
to  warn  me  to  watch  Don  Jos6  Antonio.  He 
must  know  of  this  at  once,"  muttered  Vanuela 
as  he  dashed  away  in  the  darkness. 


t 


THE  "CABALLADA"  3^9 

But  few  days  had  MacNamara  remained  in  the 
confinement  of  the  carcel.  Plores,  finaUy  con- 
vinced that  the  attempt  on  the  Hves  of  the 
pnsoners  had  been  owing  to  an  excess  of  zeal  and 
a  possible  misunderstanding  of  his  own  command 
had  ordered  both  him  and  BaUestos  released 
It  was  his  conversation  with  Vanuela  that  had 
been  overheard  by  Palera's  servant. 

"Don  Benito,"  said  AriUo  when  they  had 
^ved  at  the  Temple  ranch  house  where  the 
Cahforman  officers  had  estabUshed  their  head- 
quarters, "to-morrow  I  am  going  to  send  you  with 
a  flag  of  truce  to  the  edge  of  the  mesa  above  the 
landmg  at  San  Pedro.  Don  Francisco  Cota 
wiU  be  placed  on  the  ridge  above  you.  When 
he  waves  the  Mexican  flag  thrice,  do  you  wave 
your  white  flag,  and  seek  an  interview  with 
Stockton.    You  may  tell — " 

The  Don's  voice  was  drowned  by  the  loud 
barkmg  of  dogs  outside.    Servolo  rushed  to  the 
door,  and  his  sharp  command  sent  them  slinking 
away,  save  one  wise  old  hound  who  persisted  in 
sniffing  suspiciously  beneath  the  open  window. 
^^  "You  may  teU  him  from  me,"  went  on  AriUo 
that  I  am  anxious  to  avoid  further  bloodshed.' 
TeU  him  that  he  may  land  and  take  possession 
of  the  coast,  and  that  no  other  nation  wiU  be 
aUowed  by  us  to  obtain  a  foothold  in  California 
TeU  him  that  we  wUl  bring  to  his  camp  aU  the 


ii 


4'^ 


230  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

supplies  he  may  need,  if  he  wiU  refrain  from 
attempting  to  march  men  through  the  country, 
a  proceeding  which  wiU  but  engender  bad  feelings 
between  two  people  who  may  have  to  live  together 
m  the  future.  On  the  other  hand,  we  promise  to 
refram  from  any  hostUe  movement  and  to  abide 
by  the  results  of  the  war  beyond  the  Rio  Grande, 
whatever  they  may  be." 

But  yesterday,   to  add   to  Arillo's   growing 
discouragement,  had  come  rumors  of  Mexican 
defeats  beyond  the  Rio  Grande,  and  the  tale,  aU 
too  accurate,  cf  the  tot^  failure  of  the  powder- 
making  experiirents  at  San  Gabriel.    Not  only 
Don  Jos6  Antonio  but  Alvaro,  Garfias,  Cota, 
Rico,  and  many  others  would  have  no  regrets 
should  Stockton  offer  honorable  terms  of  sur- 
render.   But  the  pride  of  the  CastiUan  would 
never  permit  them  to  seek  mercy  from  an  armed 
enemy.    Far  better  a  hopeless  struggle  than  a 
loss  of  dignity.    Any  weU-defined  offer  would 
have  to  come  from  the  American. 

While  Don  Jos6  Antonio  had  but  little  hope  that 
the  proposition  for  a  truce  submitted  to  Willard 
would  be  accepted  by  Stockton,  yet  negotiations 
would  have  been  opened.  Then,  if  he  could 
secure  from  the  American  the  assurance  that 
the  pueblo  would  not  be  burdened  with  miKtary 
lule,  and  that  the  matter  of  the  broken  paroles 
would  be  forgiven  and  forgotten,  AriUo  was  ready 


THE   "CABALLADA" 


231 

to  throw  the  whole  weight  of  his  irtiuence  in  favor 

tr^r  ^"f^^^l-y^hehadbeen^d^ 
ing  the  plan,  and  now  the  startling  info^Sw. 
that  there  was  a  pro-British  plot  ato^t  detSeS 

^^n^  "°  '^«'^-  «*  ^  confid^TZt 
any  terms  of  surrender  compatible  with  the  dignity 
of  the  gente  de  razcn  would  be  accepted  by^e 
O^ormansm  spite  of  the  po^ble  oppJit~L 
ot  l< lores,  who  at  the  orp«y>ti<-  +;«,«  -  V^ 
San  Juan  Capistrana  ""  '*^'  ^* 

Some  three  miles  inland  from  where  th.  .,.,t 
cby,  Bemto  Willard  and  S<^jX^^e 

Ms  ^it  tS!  o"^?  ^'^'  *°  *«  ^^'y  ot 

,.  ^f  "^  opemng,  hour  after  hour  Mnid 
douds  of  swirling  dust,  ™de  the  fourT;^^ 
mounted  men  of  the  CaUfonuan  anny,  sunZ^ 

cra^--d  -^^-  upTti:^^-: 

round  a  hiU  and  round  again."  Hewasmidn^ 
a  demonstration  in  hope  that  the  XS 
commander  would  more  readily  offer  pS^^ 
acceptable  terms.  ^^^  ^° 

Impatiently  Don  Benito  watched  the  motionless 

douted  Intoi  canter  up.  confer  with  him  a 
moment,  and  then  disappear.  Turning  4  ri^c^ 
oceanward.  he  noted  that  the  boats^wi^i  b^ 


■,i-. 


233  THE  DONS  OF  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

a  short  time  before  had  left  the  flagship,  were,  in 
response  to  a  string  of  signal  flags,  now  retunung 
to  the  ships. 

Again  he  turned  his  glass  on  the  hills.  The 
caballada  was  still  in  motion,  though  the  dimness 
of  coming  night  was  already  falling  over  the  land. 
Prom  far  out  over  the  water  there  came  to  him 
the  creaking  of  the  windlass,  and  the  hoarse 
chanteys  of  the  sailors.  He  could  see  the  men 
strung  out  along  the  yards.  The  ships  were 
making  sail. 

Again  Willard  turned  the  glass  inland.  Prom 
the  figure  of  the  standard  bearer,  now  hardly 
discernible  in  the  gathering  dusk,  came  no  warning 
motion.  In  desperation  the  American  sprang 
to  his  feet  and  waved  the  white  cloth  frantically. 
But  there  was  no  response  from  the  ships  as, 
beating  their  way  against  the  breeze,  they 
drew  slowly  from  shore  on  their  way  to  San 
Diego. 

Par  too  well  had  the  ruse  de  guerre  of  Don  Jos6 
Antonio  done  its  work.  To  Commodore  Stockton 
the  lookouts  at  the  mastheads  had  reported  that 
over  three  thousand  cavahy  had  been  counted, 
passing  an  opening  in  the  ridge.  Believing  that 
the  Calif omians  had  received  reinforcements  from 
Sonora,  and  that  to  attack  them  with  six 
hundred  sailors  and  marines  would  be  madness, 
Stockton  had  given  orders  to  set  sail  at  once 


:ii:. 


THE  "CABALLADA" 


^33 
p°r^t^tion^«^°'  T^'r  ^  ^"^  h^^  afforded 

Disheartened  by  the  faUure  of  Arillo's  plan  to 

a  note  signed  by  Don  ]osi  Antonio,  instouctto^ 

"Do^f  '"■^  °""^"*^  •«•"  ^"1  Arillo  sadly. 

Do  not  gneve,  my  dear  Francisco,"  he  add^^ 

fandly,  as  he  noted  Cota's  downcast  taci"! 

S"^  A  fr--  I  '^  '^  "nuch^on- 

ti*„f^f  ^       "*"""  ''*  ~'^<'  •'™e  "aught  but 
tidings  of  disappointment. 

Hugo  Vanuela,  seated  smoking  by  a  camn  fi~ 
1°  bv^thtl"^',*?.™"*  **  ''^P-    Hi-  face! 

Sn^rr-^^^-^O"-'--"^^ 

rf^''*"  Dios.  Hugo,  thou  art  not  wanting  in 
devemess.    The  plan  of  the  note  was  thinTo^ 
Re^t^ured  it  shaU  not  be  forgotten  in  S:^ 


1  .  i 


i 


J 


334  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

Gladly  would  Vanuela  have  seen  the  Cali- 
fornians  smrender  to  Stockton,  but  a  reconcilia- 
tion which  would  leave  Arillo  in  high  favor  with 
the  conquerors  was  no  part  of  his  plans.  It  was 
he  whom  the  barking  dogs  had  driven  from 
beneath  the  window  of  the  Temple  ranch  house. 

Arillo  and  Palera  searched  in  vain  next  day  for 
the  missing  messenger.  At  that  very  moment  the 
half-wild  fellow,  who  had  known  little  of  mission 
training,  was  miles  away,  galloping  gladly  to  his 
home  in  the  hills.  The  Indians  in  the  camp,  firm 
in  their  loyalty  to  the  son  of  Leo,  swore  that  they 
knew  nothing  of  the  man. 

Far  out  at  sea,  below  the  decks  of  the  Cyane, 
Lieutenant  John  Carroll  tossed  restlessly  in  his 
hammock.  He  was  thinking  of  Stockton's  threat. 
The  princely  Don  Jos6  Antonio,  the  kindly  Alvaro, 
the  jovial,  witty  Pico,  young  Palera  with  the 
dreamer's  face  and  poet's  soul,  each  doomed  to  die 
a  felon's  death  on  the  scaffold! 

Laden  with  a  new  weight  of  woe,  persistently 
the  words  of  the  Indian  crone,  fraught  with  a  more 
sinister  meaning,  echoed  through  his  burdened 
brain: 

"The  great  hearts  you  revere  shall  be  humbled 
-—blood  shall  smear  your  path— sad  and  long 
is  the  way— your  heart  shall  be  crushed  as  by  a 
stone." 


CHAPTER  XXIII 


THE  MTORN  OP  THB  VICTORS 

B  a'ffV^"    |«"^    °PPOsite   the    Paredon 

laden  with  flowers,— flowers  in  wreaths  .nTi 
nosegays,  in  baskets  and  bouqaets,-^tag  X 
f'^^J^^  -"d  gayly  improvised  Z^ 
for  the  return  of  their  victorious  army  frra^tTe 
camp  at  Palos  Veides.  ^  ""* 

wiiTr  *'™/f^  ^"^  a  courier  had  arrived 
v^th  news  of  the  victory  at  Domiaguez  S 

^ntf  l^    "^'  *  ^"^  *^'  8^"  «te"»t  to  f 
^^i^  r  *".  *^y  '*^^'  a  fe"  days  later 

h^  WeH^"""^  «""°"^°"'  "^  amved^d 
had  landed  hK  men  on  the  beach.    Butyesterdav 

^?S  ^  ^°        '''^^  "*'''  **«  glorious  and  unex- 
^cted  hdings  that  the  three  American  X^ 

!:^d:rior'*°*^""''-"'^''"^"°"- 

As  in  the  dim  far  ages  in  the  hills  of  old  Soain 

l».ghts  of  Aragon  and  Castile,  returning  victonW 
fn>m  a  successful  foray  against  the  inlddT<^ 


fi 


.1 


t^ami 


236  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

so  waited  the  people  of  the  pueblo.    On  the 
worn  faces  of  the  old  men,  in  the  soft,  dark  eyes  of 
the  women,  was  the  light  of  joy  triumphant. 
For  once  again  the  noble  men  of  their  tmconquer- 
able  race— the  race  that  had  given  a  new  world  to 
man,  the  race  that  had  always  led  the  way  to  the 
untrodden  wilderness,  the  race  that  had  always 
been  in  the  forefront  of  the  age-long  battle  for  the 
Holy  Paith— -had  met  the  enemy  in  the  deadly 
roar  of   battle  and  had  emerged   triumphant. 
They  wondered  now  that  they  had  ever  doubted. 
Clear  and  stirring  on, the  evening  air  burst  the 
melodious  thrill  of  a  bugle  call,  and  along  the 
top  of  the  low  mesa  beyond  the  river  appeared  a 
long  line  of  horsemen.    At  the  sight  of  the  waiting 
crowd  on  the  east  bank  their  cheers  swept  across 
the  chasm  of  the  river  bed.    Down  the  steep 
trail  south  of  the  Paredon  Bluflf  the  horsemen 
scrambled,  and,  as  they  formed  in  columns  of  four 
on  the  opposite  bank,  Servolo  Palera,  riding  in 
the  van,  unslung  his  guitar  and  lifted  his  voice 
in  song — a  song  in  which  every  voice  joined: 

"The  tide  that  flowed  in  Cort^'  veins, 
The  blood  of  conquering  Spain, 
The  race  that  won  these  hills  and  plains, 
Has  conquered  once .    un. 

"  Within  our  hearts  the  hope  is  strong, 
The  hope  that  cannot  die — 
For  right  has  triumphed  over  wrong 
Beneath  our  aouthera  iky. 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  VICTORS    ,37 

Hu  flag  in  du,t  jg  lua; 
Wo  Sonc  of  Ancient  Spain." 

glad  «frr"orV4^^h  "^  '°°''  "^  ^^^ 
W  become  Se  Lw!  r   ""•/«»»  <*  Seivolo 

<*ild  in  the  pueblo        ^^  ^°'  "'°™"'  ""<> 

their  a^  S^LtfT''  ""»  -^foWed  in 
fathers!^orin.  f  ^  Pantaloons  of  thefr 

air.    Old  men  their  fo^-7^     ^  ""^  »  «>« 
threw  th,^a„^'"J^*j:-'»°^t^with  pride. 

of  .heir  stalC^C^d  ^ss^'^eJ'""'*^ 
on  both  cheeks     With  a    *■=««  them  gravely 

^^owered  ^^flo^in'^^rthTtT.  '"T 

m  aU  that  joy-maddened  throM  tW  r* 
face  more  radiant  ^Mnfh  ^  Tj    "t  ^^  *"ere  was  no 

of  fh^  .1,      t.  °°^  ^^''  caimon— the  cannon 

of  the  chux^.  now  standing  by  the  wlt'^^g^ 


0-^ 


238  THE  DONS  OF  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

tritunphantly  wreathed  with  blood-red  roses — 
that  had  sent  the  Americans  scuttling  back  to 
their  ships?  Was  it  not  her  husband,  Don  Jo66 
Antonio,  who  had  commanded  the  detachment, 
and  her  son  Manuel  who  had  fired  the  gun? 

"Ah,  my  son,"  she  said,  with  a  little  sob  in  her 
throat,  "how  proud  I  am  of  thee!' 

He  stood  erect,  one  hand  grasping  the  long 
lance  staff,  the  other  arm  around  his  mother. 

"Not  so  proud,  mother,  as  I  am,  as  all  the  army 
is,  of  thee  and  ti  y  cannon.  It  is  the  greater 
pride  to  be  the  .on  of  ftuch  a  mother." 

Though  ■  yreto  Arillo's  face  was  tired  and 
worn,  there  was  gladness  in  her  eyes,  for  it  was 
indeed  joy  to  her  that  father  and  brothe-'s  had  come 
home  unharmed  and  laden  with  glory.  Reso- 
lutely, with  the  patient  courage  of  her  race  and 
the  apparent  obedience  of  the  Spanish  woman, 
she  had  seemed  to  put  away  from  her  the  very 
thought  of  Carroll,  and  to-day  she  was  the  gayest 
and  gladdest  of  the  giddy  throng,  a  gayety  that 
was  half  real,  half  asstmied,  to  hide  and  still  the 
heavy  ache  deep  down  in  her  heart.  Of  Carroll's 
escape  from  the  Paredon  Bluff  she  was  aware. 
The  news  had  been  brought  to  her  by  Father 
Estenaga  as  a  street  rumor,  but  the  old  man  had 
smiled  knowingly  as  he  told  the  tale. 

Jos6  came  striding  toward  her.  Bending  down, 
he  whispered  in  her  ear. 


fLV 


THE  RETURN  OP  THE  VICTORS    ,39 


I.    He 

horse 


Tr^  ^^^'  ^^  unhanncd." 
As  Dcm  J086  Antonio  dropped  fro 
lus  searching  eyes  sotaght  out  Loreto. 

Is  aU  well  with  thee,  little  one?"  he  asked 

•■All  is  weU.  father,"  she  said  finnly. 

Jo^  Antomo  rnideistood,  and  with  a  sigh  he 
turned  away  to  meet  his  wife.  * 

Jos«,  after  greeting  the  seflora  in  his  mve 

rag  ttrough  the  movmg  crowd  for  a  glimpse  of 
the  fanuhar  figure  of  Delfina.  Catchine^^ht 
of  h^,  he  .rove  his  lance  head  into  th"io^d 
and^^ned  to  her  side,  a  hopeful  hghttl^if 

She  noted  his  coming,  but  with  head  averted 
contmued  her  gay  conversation.     She  hadl^ 

naa  given  no  sign. 

n:^  •'?*•  ^"^  *«**"•  ^d  unharmed  "  she 
g.bed,  as  she  took  his  hand.     "How  man^wick^ 

ti^  ^T^  ?°"  ™"'"^*  *«  ^  <"«<=«  by  this 
time.    What  shaU  we  eaU  thee -major  caotain 

or  «  .t  commandant?    Whero  are  thy'e^^; 


240  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

and  stars,  or  art  thou  carrying  water  for  the 
thirsty  soldiers  on  the  hot  days?" 

With  all  his  strange  youthful  digniiy,  Jos6  was 
keenly  sensitive.  His  teeth  met  his  lower  lip  in  an 
effort  to  still  its  trembling.  Then  he  answered 
in  a  bantering  tone,  much  like  her  own,  "I  still 
have  hopes,  Delfina.  The  war  is  young  yet. 
But  epaulets  and  officers'  commissions  do  not  grow 
on  every  bush,  to  be  had  for  the  picking." 

The  girl  looked  at  him,  startled.  It  was  the 
first  time  that  he  had  ever  made  an  effort  to 
pay  her  in  her  own  ^coin.  Her  face  changed, 
and  in  a  softened  voice  she  said  to  him,  half 
pleadingly,  her  eyes  beaming  full  upon  him, 
"Thou  wilt  come  home  of  course,  this  evening, 
with  the  Don  and  Manuel?" 

The  boy's  angry  flush  had  faded.  There  was 
a  set  expression  about  his  mouth  as  he  responded 
coolly,  "No,  Delfina,  I  shall  not  come  home 
until — well  thou  knowest — until  I  can  speak 
my  heart  to  the  Don.  I  ride  to-night  to  the  out- 
post north  of  the  Verdugo  Hills,  by  order  of 
Commandant  Plores." 

She  drew  a  little  nearer  to  him,  and  was  about 
to  speak,  when  the  bugle  blared  the  signal  to  fall 
in,  and  Jos6,  his  face  sad  but  his  head  held  high, 
took  his  place  in  the  ranks  of  the  cavalcade  as  it 
marched  up  the  long  orchard-embowered  street 
toward  the  plaza. 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  VICTORS    ,4, 

jJi^tf^u*"^'-  ^'""^  *"  "O"'"  he  said  to 
AnBo^  as  he  wung  his  horse  out  of  the  ranks 

b^s  bndle  T^.  and  foUowing  Jos«  turned  his 

aorse  mto  a  side  street. 

^'Why  adios?    Art  thou  not  coming  home,  my 

^N^^l  ride  to  the  Verdugo  Hills  for  the  com- 

^TOlt  thou   be  home   to-morrow?"    queried 

"No,  I  am  under  a  vow,  father,"  he  said  "not 
to^urn  home  tiU  a  certain  thing  comes  to  pai^ 
Anllos  pave  eyes  searched  the  boy's  fece 

I  Z  "°""°f  °^-  *^'  Pl^^^  of  ones^  „^ 
a  vow-a  voluntary  penance-among  those  rf 
great  piety  and  devotion,  but  Jos«  had  nev^n 
«nu.rkable  for  either.  Could  the  boy^^ 
^  ^tnith?    Was  the  intended  absIcTb^ 

^u^^Z"^"^"  '"'''  ^^  J-*  ^ 

^t^'^.^*'  ^™  "*  *''y  wonJ,  Jos«,  that  it  is 
notW  ttat  would  bring  thee  or  me  shame  - 
^g  that  can  bring  dishonor  to  the  n^e  of 

"I  pledge  you  my  word,  father." 
His  b.g  honest  eyes  met  the  Don's  unffinchingly 
^Then.  my  son,  I  trust  thee.    God  go  ^^ 


|4. 


»_ 
h' 


34a  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

He  released  his  hold  on  the  bridle  rein,  and 
Jos6  disappeared  down  a  side  street,  on  his  way 
to  the  outpost  at  the  Verdugo  Hills. 

That  night,  wrapped  in  his  blanket,  lying  asleep 
beneath  an  oak,  there  came  to  him  again  the 
familiar  vision  of  the  days  of  his  babyhood. 
Once  more  he  gazed  at  the  dimly  remembered 
face  of  his  father,  seated  with  his  head  against 
the  background  of  the  flag.  Again,  with  bated 
breath  and  stealthy  step,  he  crept  forward  toward 
him.  So  near  he  came  that  he  could  ahnost 
touch  the  table.    Then  he  awoke. 

Above  him,  in  the  wide-spreading  branches, 
the  leaves  were  whispering  mysteriously  of  things 
far  beyond  the  ken  of  mortal  man;  still  and 
deathlike  were  the  forms  of  his  sleeping  comrades; 
silent  as  the  tomb  was  the  gloomy  sweep  of 
inky  plain.  Sharply  silhouetted  against  the  great 
orb  of  the  rising  moon  a  lone  coyote,  with  upward 
pointed  nose,  howled  dismally. 

Trembling  with  the  sense  of  something  imcanny, 
overwhelmed  with  fear  of  the  unknown  force  that 
brought  him  its  nightly  message  of  mystery,  Jos6 
shuddered.  Then,  as  the  memory  of  his  father's 
face  came  to  him,  the  boy  sobbed  hopelessly  in 
the  folds  of  his  serape. 

And  day  by  day,  Delfina  wept  and  prayed 
and  watched  for  the  lover  who  came  no  more. 

For  many  days  the  people  of  the  pueblo  of 


THE  RETURN  OP  THE  VICTORS    243 

Our  Lady,   Queen  of  the  Angels,   held  fiesta. 
Alter  the  long,  forced  abstinence  from  aU  gayety 
that  had  characterized  the  government  of  Gillie 
the  town  gave  itself  up  for  a  whole  week  to  a  mern^ 
round  of  balls,  horse  races,  and  other  festivities 
Late  into  the  night  the  homes  about  the  plaza 
resounded  with  the  gay  tinkling  of  guitars  and  the 
meiTy  patter  of  dancing  feet.    Through  the  open 
wmdows.  squares  of  golden  light  in  the  surrounding 
blackness,  came  the  low  sweet  laughter  of  women 
and  the  sound  of  joyous  singing. 

Everywhere  the  arms  of  the  Califomians  were 
triumphant.    At  the  approach  of  Don  Manuel 
Garfias,   with  a  detachment  from  the  pueblo. 
Lieutenant  Talbot  and  his  smaU  company  of  ten 
mai.  left  in  charge  at  Santa  Barbara,  escaped 
and  fled  to  the  mountains.    They  succeeded  in 
crossmg  over  into  the  San  Joaquin  VaUey,  and 
only  after  suffering  incredible  hardships  did  they 
reach  San  Francisco,  hungry,  worn,  and  ragged, 
ban  Luis  Obispo  and  the  surrounding  district 
WCTe  agam  in  the  hano.  of  the  Califomians,  and 
daily  the  young  men  ot  that  locality  were  riding 
into  the  pueblo  and  joining  the  forces  of  Flores 

Fremont,    with    his    "Bears,"    was    reported 
somewhere  north  of  Monterey,  unable  to  move 
without  powder  for  his  rifles  or  mounts  for  his 
m«i     Into  the  mountains  and  out  of  his  reach 
had  been  driven  the  cattle  and  horses  of  the 


;f^. 


:\. 


244  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

seacxjast  ranches.  Stockton,  at  San  Diego,  was 
said  to  be  hard  pressed  by  a  superior  force  of 
Califomians  and  Indians. 

By  every  dusty,  travel-stained  horseman,  ru- 
mors many  and  vague  reached  the  pueblo. 
England  had  declared  war  against  the  .United 
States,  and  the  Mexicans  had  won  a  signal 
victory  on  the  Rio  Grande.  Strange  stories  were 
heard,  coming  from  no  one  knew  where,  that  the 
mother  nation,  though  sore  presse«3  herself,  had 
at  last  barkened  to  the  cry  of  her  f ar-oflF  daughter, 
and  that  a  Mexican  axthy  under  Governor  Pio 
Pico  was  now  on  its  way  north  through  Sonora. 

For  a  few  days  the  escape  of  the  lieutenant 
remained  a  nij^tery,  and  then  was  speedily  for- 
gotten. The  peons,  filled  with  fear  of  the  Black 
Matador,  held  theJr  peace,  but  the  regular  guards 
in  charge  of  the  prisoners  admitted  that  they  had 
that  night  drunk  much  wine— wine  furnished  by 
an  unknown  hand—and  had  slept  at  their  post 
of  duty.  Flores,  ilying  into  a  passion,  vowed 
vengeance  on  the  careless  sentinels.  But  the 
sudden  retreat  of  Stockton,  foUowed  by  the  week 
of  rejoicing,  drove  the  matter  from  his  mind. 
One  prisoner  more  or  less  mattered  little. 

Though  gladness  reigned  in  the  pueblo  at  the 
ever  welcome  news  that  trickled  in  from  the 
outside,  it  found  but  a  famt  echo  in  the  heart  of 
Loreto   Arillo.    The   excitement   attending   the 


THE  RETURN  OP  THE  VICTORS   ,45 
h^rn^    '^'  ?   .**  thoughts  Of  the  grievine  rirl 

heart     tS?^  aU  the  first  love  of  her  woman's 

mm.a,  ^7f  5"  *r"="'  'y*^-  '•«'  drooping 

^^g^4?^df"^    In  the  dusk  of  ^hf 
'^"^iK  on  tne  wide,  vine-covered  veranda  c»,« 
laiowing  that  he  understood,  wotdd  dSr^Tto^- ' 
anns  like  some  hiirf  «,-i^  Ti!^  ^  "^*°  ^^ 

lay  her  fa-H^rhT'^e^^'Hr'  ^"•"' 
:S*c:rt'^' "^  'if  ^ent^fot^^  ^  ZghTS 
cohort  he  could  utter,  the  father  could  f^  h« 

Sfi:/r4'':i«^— °'-^«d^bst 

'  ^"™  saze  ot  the  sefiora  and  busv  with  tt,« 
httle  round  of  household  duties,  heTL^e  hdd 
her  qu>v«ing  lips  still  and  set.  but  al»e  ^  tte 
stdl  reaches  of  the  night  the  sonow  that  Z^. 
her  soul  gnpped  her  close.  In  vivid  flasC^f 
m«nory  she  saw  the  laughing  blue^^  ^tS^n 

to  h^  tlf  f  "^^  ^"'*-    Always  there  c^ 
to  her  the  homd  remembrance  of  her  griefs 


346  THE  DONS  OF  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

beginning — the  night  of  the  clanking  chains — 
and  the  cruel  memory  of  Carroll's  agonized  face 
that  morning  by  the  river  when,  with  bloody 
head  and  shaking  limbs,  he  was  led  away  from 
her  across  the  stream. 

Then  she  would  rise,  clad  only  in  the  clinging 
virginal  garments  of  the  night,  her  feet  and  arms 
bare,  her  unbound  hair  a  tumbling  cataract  of 
black  over  her  white  shoulders,  and  steal  alone 
through  the  silent,  deserted  rooms  to  the  family 
chapel  in  the  rear  of  the  house.  There,  where 
the  candles  always  burned  brightly  before  the 
little  wax  statue  of  the  Madonna,  she  would  rest 
her  fevered  brow  against  the  cool  edge  of  the 
altar  and  pour  forth  her  heart's  cry  for  help. 

"Most  Holy  Virgin,  pray  for  me  tiiat  I  may  learn 
to  forget  him.  Pray  God  that  He  may  forgive 
me  for  loving  him, — an  enemy  of  my  people. 
I  am  a  wicked  girl  to  do  so — but — I — I  love 
him — I  love  him  so!  Save  and  protect  him  from 
all  harm." 

Dreams  came  to  her,  clear  and  vivid.  Often 
she  was  in  Carroll's  arms,  basking  in  the  radiance 
of  his  wondrous  smile.  Then  in  the  far,  unseen 
distance  she  would  hear,  coming  nearer  and 
nearer,  the  rattle  of  chains  and  the  crackle  of 
musketry.  His  face  would  grow  pale  and  set, 
his  head  bruised  and  bloody,  and  he  would  be 
snatched  from  her  by  tmearthly  arms  reaching 


THE  RETURN  OF  THE  VICTORS    247 

out  of  the  blackness.  Then  she  would  wake  to 
the  misery  of  the  present,  to  sob  alone  till  the 
dim  radiance  of  the  dawn  lightened  the  latticed 
window. 

In  the  pueblo,  life  swung  back  to  its  wonted 
way.  Gone  was  the  scorching  summer  heat,  to 
be  followed  by  a  long  succession  of  days  bright 
with  the  strange,  cool  sunshine  of  the  California 
autumn.  The  fall  rains,  early  this  year,  were 
ah-eady  greening  the  brown  of  the  hiUs  and  each 
morning  wrapping  the  distant  mountains  in  a 
fairy  veil  of  misty  blue. 

Down  by  the  stream,  no  longer  shrunken  by 
summer  drought  but  flowing  wide  and  full, 
where  the  vineyards  and  orchards  stretched  in 
irregular  patches  of  green  and  brown,  the  peons 
and  Indians  were  busy  as  of  old.  The  ripe 
purple  grapes  hung  in  heavy  clusters  on  the  low, 
close-cropped  vines,  and  men  sang  as  they  fOled 
the  heavy  baskets. 

On  the  hill  above  the  plaza  still  stood  the 
flagstaff  erected  by  Gillie,  but  from  it  drooped 
now  the  Mexican  tricolor.    To  Don  Augustin 
Alvaro  it  was  not  an  unpleasant  sight,  and  he 
often  sat  at  the  end  of  the  veranda  where  his 
eye  could  catch  it,  as  it  lifted  lazily  in  the  vagrant 
breeze.    To  him,  as  to  all  the  people  of  the 
pueblo,   the  memory  of  Gillie   and  his  rough 
frontiersmen  seemed  but  a  fantastic  dream  that 


I 


248  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

for  a  few  short  months  had  broken  the  even 
tenor  of  their  lives.  But  as  he  gazed  at  the  flag 
he  sighed,  a  sigh  which,  if  not  despairing,  was 
still  not  at  all  expressive  of  the  high  hopes  that 
animated  the  hearts  of  the  majority  of  the 
Calif omians. 

Don  Prandsco  de  la  Guerra,  a  portly,  cheery 
man  of  middle  age  seated  opposite  him  on  the 
veranda,  looked  at  Don  Augustin  inquiringly. 
De  la  Guerra  was  a  confirmed  and  incurable 
optimist,  and  he  wondered  at  Alvaro's  lack  of 
enthusiasm. 

^  "Bah ! "  he  said,  as  he  straightened  his  shoulders. 
"We  of  the  race  of  Cort^,  the  race  that  discovered 
and  explored  the  new  world,  can  it  be  that  we 
shall  fear  the  Americans,  and  they  but  mere 
money-getters  and  laborers?  Never!  The 
matchless  courage  of  our  people  still  lives  and 
shall  conquer.  They  will  never  come  back. 
Impossible." 

Don  Augustin's  keen  eyes  crinkled  up  into 
something  akin  to  a  smile. 

"But  how  they  can  shoot,  Don  Prandsco,  those 
bandoleros  of  Gillie!  Jesus!  They  could  shoot 
the  eyelashes  from  a  gopher,  and  he  running  in 
the  moonlight.    Por  Dios,  yes." 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

THB  BATTLB  IN  THE  DARK 

"  Y^UR  «yes  are  better  than  mine,  lieutenant- 
^    see  If  you  can  find  them.    They  should  be' 
somewhere  hereabouts."    Captain  Gillie  handed 
the  glass  to  Lieutenant  CarroU. 

f«I^l!r  ''^'*"'  ^  ««»°^d  of  forty  mounted 
frontieran«i  were  eagerly  scanning  the  landscape 

m  search  of  General  Kearney  and  his  part^X 
w^  r^XMted  to  be  on  their  way  to  San  Diego. 

.t^SS^T  ""T  **  ^^  ^'"^^  ^  Stockton 
at  San  Diego,  but  they  were  far  from  the  over- 

whelmmg  force  he  had  expected  and  the  CaH- 
fomians  had  feared.  ^^ 

«^^x.^?™^^  ^^  ^^^^^  ^^^  Port  Leaven- 

r^.  r  .  ^?"  ?r  ^  ^''^^^''  ^^^  "meeting 
^the  Santa  F6  trail  the  famous  scout.  Kit  Carson 

who  had  been  sent  east  by  Stockton  with  news  of 
the  complete  and  peaceful  conquest  of  California 
^A  f  *^f,^P^t^o"  of  Los  Angeles,  Kearney 
had  decided  that  his  laqje  for^  was  not  needed 

♦«*»:  .  M  ^.f"""®*  *^P**"*'  <*o^^  ^at  gulch 
to^e  east."  said  Carroll  as  he  returned  the  ^. 

With  a  welcoming  cheer  the  frontieumwi 
gaUop^  up  the  slope,  and  in  a  few  minutes  the 
two  parties  were  exchanging  congratulaUoRi. 

349 


as©  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

Hardly  a  hundred  men  were  with  Kearney. 
The  greater  part  of  his  force  he  had  sent  back,  and 
had  scattered  the  rest  as  garrisons  in  Arizona  and 
New  Mexico,  reserving  only  the  small  escort  of 
dragoons,  with  two  mountain  howitzers.  Scout 
Carson,  with  his  bodyguard  of  three  Delaware 
Indians,  had  returned  with  Kearney's  party  to 
guide  it  through  the  wilderness  of  the  Colorado 
basin. 

Burnt  brown  by  desert  suns,  gaimt  and  ema- 
ciated from  privation,  ,were  Kearney's  men. 
Nearly  half  of  them  were  on  foot ;  the  others,  with 
the  exception  of  the  officers,  were  motmted  on 
broken-down  mules.  The  horses  of  the  expedition 
had  been  unable  to  withstand  the  terrific  strain 
of  the  march  across  the  Colorado  desert.  Curi- 
ously the  soldiers  stared  at  the  buckskin  shirts 
and  unmilitary  garb  of  the  frontiersmen,  who 
returned  the  stare,  amusement  showing  in  their 
faces  as  they  noted  the  dimmed  brilliancy  of  the 
once  gaudy  dragoon  uniforms. 

The  news  of  the  revolt  of  the  Califomians,  as 
Gillie  recoimted  it  to  Kearney,  was  but  little  of  a 
siuprise.  Letters  taken  from  a  captured  Mexican, 
a  few  days  before,  had  told  him  that  the  conquest 
had  proved  abortive,  and  during  the  last  few  days 
the  march  of  the  Americans  had  been  closely 
watched  by  mounted  men  from  the  neighboring 
heights. 


THE  BATTLE  IN  THE  DARK      ,5. 

"Cptain  Gillie,  what  do  you  Imo.  ^  .u 
^.  hi.  n«„,b.„  „d  pci J.  !^^ 

A^^PiTf^,  »d  si^  men,  under  Don 

"Well,"  said  the  general  slowlv   "w.  a-^      x 
c^e  two  thou^nd  miles  to  Tw  ^t^f  ^ 

issue  instructions."  he  iw,-/*    ♦. 
orderly,    "to  have^Ur^"';;"™?  *°  "» 
marx*  an  hour  beforesSi^?        ^^""^  '» 
No  bugle  blared  to  awaken  the  sleepers  in  th. 

pered  word  in   the  darkness  l^dtL 

left  behind  to  guard  the  b^jL  ^wf  ^'^^ 
to  move  forward  as  rapidly ':';^Se""'""*"" 

"  was  bitterly  cold,   cold   with  the  rf»,- 
penetrating  chiU  of  the  Cahfomia  ^t^t.^.' 


853  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

The  chattering  of  the  men's  teeth  could  be  heard, 
with  the  jingling  of  the  sabers  and  the  creak  of 
the  gun  wheels,  as  they  trotted  on  through  the 
fog-laden  gloom. 

Carroll,  riding  close  behind  Kearney  and  Gillie 
past  the  low  adobes  of  the  Indian  villago)  of  San 
Pascual,  was  silent  and  thoughtful.  Dimly  he 
could  see  ahead  of  him  the  big  white  horse  ridden 
by  Captain  Johnston,  who,  with  a  dozen  dragoons, 
composed  the  advance  guard.  Soldier-like,  the 
lieutenant  thrilled  at  th^  thought  of  the  coming 
conflict,  yet  there  was  sadness  in  his  soul,  for 
somewhere  in  the  all-enveloping  darkness  about 
him  were  the  courtly  men  of  the  pueblo, — the 
quaint  Alvaro,  the  jovial  Don  Andreas,  Palera  to 
whom  he  owed  his  life,  and  probably  Don  Jo86 
Antonio  Arillo,  the  father  of  the  woman  he  loved. 

He  peered  ahead  into  the  gloom,  but  could 
discern  neither  sight  nor  sound  of  Johnston  and  his 
men.    They  had  drawn  far  ahead. 

Discordantly  a  rattle  of  shots  and  red  flashes 
of  flame  cut  into  the  softened  stillness  of  the  night. 
He  heard  a  stentorian  voice  ordering  the  charge, 
then  cries  of  dismay,  the  screams  of  wounded 
horses,  and  the  clatter  of  sted. 

Hurriedly,  Kearney,  Gillie,  and  the  little  band 
of  dragoons  about  them  spurred  their  mounts 
forward.  In  an  instant  Carroll,  saber  in  hand, 
found  himself  in  the  midst  of  the  m^^.    Around 


him 
half 


THE  BATTLE  IN  THE  DARK 

ev«y  ride  WW  the  fonns  of  motmted 
■een  in  the  darkness,— forms  lunrinff 


aS3 

men< 


iS^«,^.  5?^  "  '"•  "8ht  fired  his  pi«ol. 

AnortcrshouW  in  Spanish,  and  lu  ,  twi,Jdine 
the  Amencans  found  themselve.  abn.  The 
O.Uom:ans  had  vanished  as  quiddv  ^  tw 

of  ^.f  J    .  dragoons.    Instead,  twenty  or  thirty 
SeJ^S^LT"'  "'"'  "^  dropped  behind^ 

Another  scattering  voUcy  down  the  road  and 
avcnce  called  out  in  agony.  "For  S^'s^e 
men.  come  upl    Come  up!"  ' 

Yells,  groans,  and  the  a^gry  clink  of  steel  were 


l^'- 


as4  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

straight  ahead  of  them.  The  Califomians  had 
turned,  and  were  again  attacking  the  advance 
guard. 

In  a  ring  around  the  two  cannon,  the  officers 
and  men  of  the  advance  and  Kearney's  small 
party  were  making  an  heroic  stand.  Like  clinging 
smoke  wreaths  the  fog  wrapped  their  shifting 
forms  as  they  battled  horse  against  horse,  man 
against  man,  sword  against  lance  shaft. 

Gillie,    fighting    manfully   by    Carroll's    side, 
cleverly  avoided  a  lance  thrust  and  drove  his 
sword    through  a  Cali^omian's    arm.    Then  a 
lance  point  struck  him  full  in  the  mouth,  knock- 
ing him  from  his  horse.    Whatever  his  oddities, 
Captain  Gillie  was  a  man  of  magnificent  person?*^ 
courage.    Springing  to  his  feet,  his  face  streanm.<j 
blood,  he  continued  the  unequal  struggle  on  foot" 
In  the  midst  of  the  press  of  limging  men  and 
rearing  horses,  Carroll  himself  was  busy  parrying 
the  st«el-tipped  point  that  was  thrust  at  him  again 
and  again.    Rising  in  his  stirrups,  he  sent  his 
horse  forward,  and  ignoring  the  sting  of  steel  in 
his  thigh,  he  brought  his  saber  down,  shearing  the 
wooden  shaft  in  twain.    In  an  instant  his  antag- 
onist had  drawn  his  sword,  and  as  their  horses 
sidled  together  their  b^des  crossed.    The  lieuten- 
ant was  face  to  face  with  Servolo  Palera. 

For  a  moment  their  swords  slithered  along 
their  lengths.     Carroll,  with  the  fine  sense  of 


THE  BATTLE  IN  THE  DARK       ,55 

touch  of  the  true  swordanan.  felt  that  he  was 
easily  master.  ^ 

••Suirender,  Sefior  Paleia.    I  cannot-" 

now,  friend  cJSn  "  ^°'  '"'=  ""  «"  «"<Ji«" 
As  Servolo's  sword  flew  fixMn  his  hand  Cam,n 
saw  dmly  above  the  Califomian's  h^  kTZ? 
of ^up^ised  musket.  LifSst^S^' 
he  mt^posed  his  saber.    Quick  enough  h7^ 

M  o^e  Shoulder  of  Palera.  knocking  him  fj 

The  owner  of  the  musket,  one  of  Carson's 
Indians,  dropped  to  the  g^und.  seized  Me 

ft  was  fuU  morning  now,  but  dim  and  mistv 
Agroup  of  Cahfomians.  some  ^J^diS" 

ttl^^u"^^?  "^^^"^  *°  *t«  ri»t«  from 
tbor  saddles.    About  the  remaining  gun  X 

fi^t  was  stiU  on.    Half  of  the  saddles^f  2e 

^csWl.  ttupidly  trembling  m  eve:y  Ii,„b.  „ 
gaUopmg  nderless  about  the  plain.    Wounked 


H 

i" 


as6    THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

men,  all  of  them  Americans,  teemed  to  be  every- 
where, groaning  in  pain,  and  crawling  from  under 
the  feet  of  the  frenzied  horses. 

Captain  Moore,  ahead  of  Carroll,  gasped  as  if 
in  surprise,  and  the  lieutenant  glimpsed  the 
handbreadth  of  a  lance  point  protruding  from 
between  his  shouldCTs  as  he  went  backward  ou.  of 
the  saddle. 

Again  the  quick,  sharp  order  in  Spanish,  and 
once  more  the  splendid  mounts  of  the  enemy  bore 
them  swiftly  out  of  reach.  A  moment  later,  with 
a  wild  cheer,  the  main  body  of  the  dragoons  gal- 
loped up,  but  too  late  to  take  any  part  in  the 
fight.  The  Califomians  had  abandoned  the  field. 
The  Americans  were  nominal  victors,  but  at 
what  a  cost!  Of  the  sixty-five  dragoons  and 
frontiersmen  actively  engaged,  one  half  were 
hors  de  combat.  On  the  ground  about  the  remain- 
ing cannon,  and  along  the  winding  trail,  lay 
thirteen  dead  and  eighteen  wounded,  among  the 
latter  Captain  Gillie  and  General  Kearney.  Not  a 
single  Califomian,  dead  or  wounded,  was  to  be  seen. 
In  the  dim  light  of  the  misty  dawn,  Kearney's 
face  was  drawn  and  haggard. 

"GodI  This  is  awful!"  he  said,  as  he  surveyed 
the  field. 

"Take  twenty  men,  lieutenant,  and  the  best 
horses,  and  ride  back  at  once.  They  may  attack 
the  baggage  guard." 


THE  BATTLE  IN  THE  DARK       257 

thtl^V^"^  ^  P^^  «^°I^  back  through 

jonnston,  the  handsome  oflScer  at  x^h^^  Z 
jests  he  had  laughed  the  nX^f       ,         "*^ 
Heath    I,-        ^""*™8lit  before,  lying  stiff  in 

bS-v'  ^  .'T'^  '**"  "  "^^  d^xied  hand  " 
Mart.    Both  had  faUen  in  the  fim  onslaught  of  the 

The    Californians    made    no    further    attack 
^g  the  long  day.  a  day  of  chUIing,  dS^g 
rain   the  Amencans,  sobered  by  the  unexoected 
revelation  of  the  fighting  qualitfes  of  tTe^^y 
gathered  their  dead  and  tended  to  their  wo3 

them  as  ^  in  sympathy,  the  inky  sky^t 
««adily.  Bowed  with  grief,  abouTthe  «S 
graves  were  the  sorrowing  men,  silent  save  w^ 
a  streng  man  choked  back  a  sob  as  the  clay 
fell  on  the  faces  of  the  comrades  they  had  aU 


as8  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

learned  to  know  and  to  love  far  beyond  the 
manner  of  men— the  comrades  who  had  shared 
with  them  the  chilling  cold  of  mountain  nights, 
the  days  of  blistering  desert  sun,  the  perils  and 
privations  of  the  long  march  of  two  thousand  miles. 
Carroll  sighed.  More  blood,  and  still  more- 
would  it  never  end?  Even  should  Kearney 
supersede  Stockton,  an  event  he  had  looked  for- 
ward to  with  hope,  still  there  would  be  no  mercy 
now  for  the  men  of  the  broken  paroles. 

"How  truly  she  spoke,  that  accursed  witch,"  he 
thought,  as  her  prophetic  words  echoed  in  his 
memory:  "Blood  shall  smear  your  path,  shall 
smear  your  path." 

As  the  lieutenant  and  the  burial  party  returned 
to  the  camp  on  the  rock-strewn  hillock,  he  heard 
the  click  of  picks  and  the  scuffle  of  shovels  in  the 
sand.  Kearney's  men  were  digging  for  water  to 
assuage  the  raging  thirst  of  their  wounded,  whose 
moans  could  be  heard  in  the  darkness.  On  the 
rock-covered  hilltop  there  was  hardly  a  spot  where 
they  could  lie  in  comfort.  One  dragoon,  a  stal- 
wart sw-geant,  was  in  the  last  agonies  of  death. 
Dr.  Grilfin,  the  surgeon  of  the  expedition,  was 
busy,  as  he  had  been  all  day,  with  the  injured  men. 
Only  a  few  mouthfuls  of  hardtack  and  dried  beef 
were  left  in  the  knapsacks  of  the  soldiers. 

Carroll's  first  thought  was  for  Palera.    Much 
to  his  relief,  he  found  that  beyond  a  severely 


isi^fs^sm-'i^smr 


THE  BATTLE  IN  THE  DARK       ,59 

bnjised  shoulder  Servolo  was  unharmed.  As  the 
Califorman  smihngly  answered  the  lieutenant's 
anxious  inquiry,  he  shivered  with  cold 

C^^  '-iT  ^^f  ^J"^'  ^°^°'"  ^<^ 
w         ,^,*"'^«^°se  for  greater  warmth." 
Wrapped  clo^  together  in  the  same  blanket, 
the  two  men  who.  but  a  few  hours  before  had 
^ught  each  other's  Hves  lay  silent  for  a  space 
Between  the  lugubrious  howls  of  the  coyoti  on 
the  plams  they  could  hear  about  them  the  piteous 
gr^  of  the  wounded  men.    The  big  man  a  few 
feet  away  gasped  loudly,  and  the  death  rattle  in 

^^hfr^'  f '^  '^^'  ^^^  ^"^  ^  «^-e.    Th^ 
ntght  had  cleared,  and  mockingly  in  the  black 

^^ult  above,  the  cheerful  stars  smiled  down  upon 

Tlie  two  men.  lying  silent  side  by  side,  were 

S:;^k"^°^-'^^--    ^-oU  was  the 

ca:itT^raid"::.th:SdL^ 

Car^li*'"°^^^  ^^^^  ^"^  ^"^^  '^P^^  '^'  ^"^°d 

J'^^^  ^^^^  ^^  ^"^*  promised  me  that 
you  will  be  exchanged  early  in  the  morning" 
went  on  the  lieutenant,  "and  after  the  war  is 
Ztl^tar^'^^-there   may   be   much 

Servolo's  eyes  glistened  in  the  firelight,  but  he 


a6o  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

•ighed  wearily  and  shook  his  head.  The  strange 
presentiment  that  had  haunted  him  night  and 
day,  a  presentiment  that  he  would  never  live  to 
see  the  ending  of  the  war,  was  now  strong  upon 
him.  For  more  than  a  month  he  had  been  as  one 
waiting  and  watching  for  the  coming  of  death. 

"I  thank  thee,  friend  Carroll,"  he  responded 
with  a  wan  smile.  "Glad  will  I  be,  of  course,  to 
rejoin  my  comrades,  but  beyond  that  there  is 
naught  that  thou  couldst  do— that  any  one 
could  do — for  me." 

The  utter  hopelessness  in  Servolo's  whisper 
awoke  a  throb  of  sympathy  in  Carroll's  kindly 
heart.    But  he  forbore  questioning. 

"Sefior  Carroll,"  said  Palera  suddenly,  "do 
you  love  her  truly— with  the  love  of  an  honorable 
man?  In  the  name  of  the  angels  and  the  saints, 
answer  me  truth' :ly.  This  means  everything 
to  me." 

The  question  came  from  Servolo's  lips  with 
im-Castilian  directness. 

Carroll  started,  then  without  hesitation  he 
answered,  firmly  and  gravely,  "By  my  hope  of 
Heaven,  I  do,  Servolo." 

"It  is  well.  Doubting  you,  I  could  kill  you 
as  you  sleep,  but  believing  you,  I  am  happy— as 
happy  as  a  broken  heart  can  be." 

Within  the  closely  wrapped  blanket  Palera 
grasped   the  American's   hand   and   pressed   it 


THE  BATTLE  IN  THE  DARK       261 

qtaietly     He  sighed  again,  and  laying  his  arm 
across  the  other,  drew  closer  f«  u-     •    ^ 
night.  ^^  to  him  m  the  chill 

Surrounded  by  the  dead  and  dying,  slumbered 
the  two  men   their  anns  about^TtS-! 
two  men  whose  hearts  were  throbbing  with  love 
for  a  weepmg  woman  in  the  distanT  pueblo  o? 
Our  Lady,  Queen  of  the  Angels. 

on    thf  ^u   ?°^  smouldered  the  camp  fires 
ZJ"!  ^"°^-    ^^   the   wide,    gmy   w™ 
bi^ed  the  starht  silence,  broke,!  ^J  hytt 
B^  n^oyements  of  the  watchful  sentrfS^ 

Bornesoftlyonthenight  wind  came  the  shuffling 
tmmp  of  many  feet,  the  clink  of  accouterm«^ 
the  sound  of  voices.  "«=nnenis, 

.»,  '.T°,*^'  -/^  ^^s  • "  ^»^ted  a  sentinel.  The 
^  alarm  of  the  bugle  in  an  instant  traiSormS 
the  ^mg  camp  into  a  scene  of  frantic  acSSy 

pee^orthX."^"^^^^'-^^ 
"Fnends---relief  from   San    Diego,"  came  a 
reassurmg  shout  from  the  hollow 

ch^'^ttr'""^'^  ^'^'^^  ^^^y  ^  th«  extant 
c&e«^  that,  sweepmg  over  the  plain,  told  the 

Ca^orn^s  on  the  hills  that  Commod;,re  Sto^! 

their  well-filled  haversacks  with  the  hungry 
dispmted  men  of  Kearney's  command 


■.*%' 


CHAPTER  XXV 

VANUBLA  STRIKES 

TN  anticipation  of  the  t  >:ning  of  Fremont,  who 
-*•  was  reported  to  be  moving  slowly  south,  the 
Califomians  had  taken  a  position  ten  miles  north 
of  the  pueblo,  near  the  Verdugo  ranch  house. 

Hugo  Vanuela,  seated  sideways  in  his  saddle, 
was  idly  watching  the  cavalry  squadrons  practicing 
field  evolutions  on  the  lilain  below.  At  the  word 
of  command,  their  well-trained  steeds  formed  into 
a  long  line  four  deep,  and  with  leveled  lances  they 
charged  on  the  imaginary  foe.  Feigning  flight, 
their  broken  squads  suddenly  reimited,  swung 
around  in  two  long  curves,  and  completely 
surrounded  the  supposed  enemy.  Ever  on  the 
flanks  of  the  colimins  whirled  the  cannons  at  the 
riatas'  ends.  But  the  sefiora's  gun  was  no  longer 
alone.  Two  others  of  Castro's  gims  had  been 
discovered  and  unspiked,  and  Arillo  now  com- 
manded a  battery  of  four  pieces,  one  of  them 
the  mountain  howitzer  captured  from  General 
Kearney  at  San  Pascual. 

During  the  last  two  months  Vanuela  had 
succeeded  in  communicating  several  times  with 
Commodore  Stockton  at  San  Diego.  By  means 
of  one  of  his  Indian  scouts  he  had  forwarded  to  the 

262 


^^i^mm'wsi.  -'w 


VANUELA  STRIKES  ,63 

American  commander  a  complete  and  accurate 
statement  of  the  numbers  and  resources  of  the 
Cahfomians.  During  these  exchanges  he  lost  no 
opportumty  of  inflaming  the  mind  of  the  commo- 
dore  a^inst  Don  Jos6  Antonio  Arillo.  whom  he 
pictured  as  the  originator  of  the  revolt  and  relent- 
less m  his  hatred  of  everything  American. 

Bat  Hugo's  mind  at  the  present  moment  was 
far  m<M^  occupied  with  the  folded  papers  in  his 
hand  than  with  past  events  or  with  the  gaUopina 
squadrons  on  the  plain  below.  The  commandant 
had  just  mstructed  him  to  select  a  capable  man  to 
cany  dispatches  to  Don  Jesus  Pico  at  San  Luis 
Obispo. 

Vanuela  was  pondering  the  problem.    He  was 
quite  willing,  even  anxious,  that  the  document 
which  announced  in  grandiloquent  terms  the  vic- 
tory at  San  Pascual  should  faU  into  the  hands 
of  the  Amencans.    He  would  have  ridden  with 
them  himself,  and  thus  insured  their  delivery  to 
Fremont  but  it  was  plain  that  he  could  not  leave 
the  pueblo  at,  present.    MacNamara  was  becoming 
importunate:  in  his  demands.    He  had  intrusted  to 
V^uela  the  work  of  obtaining  signatures  to  the 
petition  addressed  to  the  British  commodore  at 
Santa  Barbara.    Only  yesterday  an  Indian  had 
gaUoped  from  San  Gabriel,  where  the  supposed 
Spaniard,  at  Plores'  command,  had  takeTfuU 
charge  of  the  powder  making,  with  a  note  for 


is; 


I*'  I 


I 


a64    THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

Vanuda  requesting,  even  demanding,  that  Hugo 
report  to  him  at  once  with  definite  information  of 
the  progress  he  was  making.  The  Englishman 
was  becoming  decidedly  troublesome.  He  would 
have  to  be  placated  in  some  way. 

Absorbed  in  thought,  Hugo  failed  to  notice  the 
approach  of  Jos6  Arillo,  who,  mounted  on  a 
spirited  white  horse,  had  trotted  up  behind  him. 
As  his  glance  met  the  gaze  of  the  boy,  there 
flashed  on  him  the  memory  of  the  manner  in 
which  the  youngster  had  foiled  his  attempt  to 
lance  the  American  oflSoer  at  Dominguez.  Hugo 
licked  his  lips  wolfishly,  and  his  face  lit  with  cruel 
grimness. 

"The  young  dog!"  he  muttered.  "Him  wiU 
I  send.  If  the  Americans  catch  him,  he  will  die, 
even  as  Arillo  is  to  die. "  But  his  spoken  greeting 
was  unusually  courteous. 

Jos6,  at  Vanuela's  unwonted  gradousness,  reined 
up  his  horse  expectantly. 

"Even  now  I  was  about  to  send  for  you,  Sefior 
Arillo,"  said  Hugo  deferentially.  "Commandant 
Plores  had  instructed  me  to  select  a  man — a 
capable,  cautious  man  and  a  good  rider — to 
perform  a  great  service  for  the  government. 
None  better  could  I  call  to  mind  than  thee." 

"You  honor  me  greatly,  Sefior  Don  Hugo," 
replied  the  boy,  not  to  be  outdone  in  courtesy. 
But  his  big  gray  eyes  were  scrutinizing  the  other 


VANUELA  STRIKES 


a6s 


of 


carefully.    "I  «haU   mdecd  be  glad   to  be 
aemce  to  the  country.    What  is  the  mission?" 

I  y«»h  to  be  honest  with  you,  Sefior  Arillo," 
Vanuela  contmued.  "The  service  is  not  without 
<ianger.  The  commandant  wishes  to  send  these 
pap«^.  amioimdng  the  victory  at  San  Pascual. 
to  Don  Jesus  Pico  at  San  Luis  Obispo.  The  man 
J^  succeeds  in  pUdng  them  in  the  hands  of 
Don  Jesus  winwm  honor,  fame,  and  a  great  name 
lor  hmiself .  Do  you  volunteer  ? " 
At  Vanuela's  last  words  an  eager  look  came  into 

jnth  the  other  hand  brushed  back  from  his  brow 

qti<^^^^''^™'^'^^^^'    ^«»heanswered 
"Surely  wiU  I  go,  Sefior  Vanuela." 
"Goodf"  Hugo  handed  him  the  dispatches. 
J0S6  h^tated.    ''May  I  not  ride  to  the  pueblo 

and  notify  my  father?    It  wiU  take  but  little 

time,    he  pleaded. 

^  "No,  no,"  objected  Vanuela  hastily.  "Speed 
IS  of  great  importance.  You  must  take  the  road 
at  once.  The  commandant's  orders  are  that  no 
one  must  know-no  one.  I  myself  wiU  notify 
Don  Jos6  Antonio  for  thee." 

Stm   Jos6   hesitated.    Vanuela,    through    his 
^wed  eyelids,  was  closely  scanning  the  boy's 

"For  Dios,"  he  broke  out  haughtUy,  "return  to 


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I  <: 


266  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

me  the  papers.    I  wiU  seek  another  messenger- 
one  who  does  not  set  terms  and  conditions." 

"No,  no;  I  wiU  ride  at  once,"  repKed  the 
boyish  victim.    "Adios,  sefior." 

He  shook  Vanuela's  hand,  swung  his  snow- 
white  steed  about,  and  galloped  away.  For  the 
memory  of  Delfina's  stinging  words,  "carrying 
water  for  the  soldiers,"  returned  to  him  with  force. 
Ah !  Now  would  she  see  what  his  superiors  thought 
of  him  I  When  he  returned,  crowned  with  success, 
honored  by  the  commandant  and  the  whole  army, 
how  proud  she  would  be  of  him! 

As  he  galloped  on  ^through  the  cool  morning 
sunshine  his  heart  echoed  to  the  sound  of  his 
horse's  hoofs,  ever  beating  out  the  words  of  the 
thoughtless  girl.  "Win  a  great  name—win  a 
great  name." 

But  one  thought  clouded  his  happiness— a 
regret  that  he  could  not  have  told  Don  Jos6 
Antonio  of  his  good  fortune  and  obtained  his 
consent. 

At  that  very  moment  the  Don  himself,  seated 
in  the  large  living  room  of  his  home,  his  mihtary 
garb  soiled  and  spattered,  was  listening  to  the 
petulant  words  of  his  wife. 

"Dios  de  mi  ahna,"  she  grumbled,  "can  the  boy 
be  possessed  of  an  evil  spirit?  Again  and  again, 
I  have  been  told,  he  has  ridden  into  the  pueblo 
from  the  camp  at  the  Verdugos,  but  never  comes 


VANUELA  STRIKES 


been  blind   Xt  is^t'      =^'  "°*"'-  """^« 
young  folks  lo^^^r^-^i^lf'-'^  <"-«';  the 

has^anyLnge'^^il^tHS"^';;::: 
cannot  tell  "  "®'    ^^® 

he^D^re1^eoS"-^«"ene«^„. 

••  Jo^  t°><J  me  on  his  word  of  honor  that  he  was 
rnider  a  vow  not  to  retnn,  home  until  a  ^ 
thmghadcometopass.    Cammba!    WeWW 

once^    he  added,  a  Uttle  impatiently.  "' 

Wen   *e  unde^_:Vo-(nort"sLr' 

Oh,  why  could  he  not  be  like  other  men.  men  X' 
ibou^  scorned  and  rebuffert    i,.^        •  ' 

again  sung  at  her  wS^*^k„d1„^«r  f".0 
profession  of  their  love  at  Lrbt  S^^/Jklv 
^mbreros  at  her  feet,  men  who  L^Se  h^ 

protestations  of  devotion?    JPace  to  face  with 


268  THE  DONS  OF  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 


the   girl   was 


such    un-Castilian   stubbornness, 
astounded  and  mjrstified. 

Wiping  her  eyes,  she  hurried  to  the  little 
chapel.  Sinking  on  her  knees,  she  looked  long 
and  reverently  at  the  statue  of  the  Madonna. 
How  happy  she  looked  I  To  the  girl's  super- 
heated imagination,  the  fruit  of  weeks  of  worry, 
the  waxen  lips  seemed  to  curve  in  a  cahn,  con- 
tented smile. 

"Ah,"  she  sobbed,  reaching  out  her  open  hand 
protestjngly,  "you  may  smile— you  have  had  all 
your  heart  desires— ybu  have  your  nene.  You 
smile— you  do  not  care.  And  I  have  prayed  to 
you,  night  after  night,  day  after  day,  to  bring 
my  Jos6  back  to  me.  And  still  you  smile.  You 
do  not  care." 

Wrought  to  a  high  pitch  of  excitement  by  her 
maddening  thoughts,  she  sprang  to  her  feet  and 
advanced  to  the  altar,  a  desperate  look  on  her 
tear-stained  face. 

Halting,  she  bowed  her  head.  "God  forgive 
me,"  she  murmured,  "if  it  is  wrong,  but  I  must— 
I  must — I  must  have  him  back." 

As  she  glanced  up  again  the  peaceful  smile  of 
the  Madonna  maddened  her.  Ahnost  beside  her- 
self with  mingled  anger  and  reUgious  emotion,  she 
reached  out,  took  the  waxen  image  of  the  infant 
Jesus  from  the  arms  of  the  statuette,  and  rev- 
erently wrapping  it  in  the  folds  of  a  silken  scarf, 


VANUELA  STRIKES  .^^ 

AriUo  had  gaUoped  back  to  the  camo     Th. 
nien  were  af-  Hinn<>.  ,  *-««np.     ihq 

Tos6  wit  L  u        ^'  ^"P^^  about  the  fires 
JOS6  was  nowhere  to  be  found 

riding  with  di^tch«    oT^fjt,^'^™' 
order  of  Commandant  Plores."  '  ^^ 

Like  a  inife  thrust  he  deliverp-i  fi,.  _   j 

Mahcious  gladness  manifest  kihu  1'  u  r 
Vanuelagaz'  '  -leefnltJ^!?  1?  ^  *^^^  ^^' 

the  papers  on  the  table.  o«^Pied  with 

"Sanguis,"  he  panted  "can  h  Ko  * 
W  «„t  that  C^t^d^oi^to^^ 
wth  Aspatches?    It  seems  incJSei"         ^ 

18 


./I 


t 


a;©  THE  DONS  OF  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 


Plores'  gaze,  as  he  met  the  Don's  indignant 
look,  was  steady,  but  his  face  flushed  angrily  at 
Arillo's  words. 

He  himself  would  hav  hosen  anothT  mes- 
senger, but  Vanuela  had  **ssured  him  the  boy 
was  competent.  The  thing  was  done ;  the  boy  was 
now  far  out  of  reach.  Besides,  he  was  irritated  by 
the  peremptory  tone  of  Arillo.  The  commandant 
was  in  no  mood  to  be  dictated  to  by  any  one. 

"Calm  thyself,  my  dear  Don  Jos6  Antonio," 
he  said  reassuringly.  "  It  is  true  the  boy  was  sent 
by  my  command.  He*  is  a  soldier  and  an  Arillo, 
and  obeys  orders  without  questioning.  He  is 
mounted  on  one  of  the  blancos  of  Don  Andreas 
Pico,  which,  as  you  doubtless  know,  can  out- 
distance anything  in  California.  There  is  really 
no  need  for  anxiety." 

Don  Jos6  Antonio  bit  his  lip;  his  face  was  white 
with  indignation.  Regaining  control  of  himself, 
he  said  slowly:  "Don  Jos6  Maria  Flores,  you  are 
our  commandant  and  governor,  and  as  such  I 
salute  you  and  obey  you."  He  bowed  formally, 
a  bow  which  Flores,  rising  to  his  feet,  as  gravely 
returned.  "But  if  that  boy  comes  to  any  harm, 
by  all  the  saints  and  angels,  when  the  war  is  over, 
California — nay,  the  whole  earth — will  be  much 
too  small  to  hold  us  both.    One  of  us  shall  die." 

The  commandant  was  not  lacking  in  cool 
courage. 


VANUELA  STRIKES  371 

"I  accept,  Don  Jos6  Antonio.  If— as  I  believe 
^  very  unlikely-the  boy  prove  unfortunate, 
tlien  I  wiU  meet  you  at  your  pleasure." 

"There  is  much  else  at  the  bottom  of  aU  this 

?^AAfu-''T'^'''"  "^^  ^^^'   ^hen  Arillo 
nad  told  him  his  story. 

The  two  men  were  seated  on  their  horses, 
lacmg  one  another. 

"I  cann..  believe  it  is  the  doing  of  Commandan. 
Flores,  he  is — " 

He  stopped  short,  his  eyes  fixed  in  wonder- 
wonder  m  which  there  was  sudden,  startled 
recogmtion. 

A  man  had  ridden  up  quietly  behind  Arillo.  It 
was  MacNamara.  a  black,  wide-brimmed  Ameri- 
can hat  weU  down  on  his  head,  a  big  bandana  hand- 
kerchief drawn  over  his  mouth  as  a  protection 
ag^t  the  flying  dust  of  the  road.  As  he  walked 
his  horse  past  the  two.  he  jerked  the  handkerchief 
down  from  his  face  and  bared  his  head  in  courteous 
salute. 

Don  Augustin  sat  rigid  as  a  statue.  Arillo. 
bis  back  to  the  newcomer,  stared  at  his  friend 
uncomprehendingly.  Suddenly  Don  Augustin 
stuped  his  horse  forward  and  whispered  in 
AnUo  s  ear.  "Qmck,  quick!    Ride  with  me!" 

Alvaro  was  v/hirling  down  the  trail,  slashing  his 
horse  with  his  quirt.  Don  Jos6  Antonio,  reading 
in  the  agitated  face  of  his  companion  something 


373    '^  HE  DONS  OP  THE- OLD  PUEBLO 

inomentous,  wheeled  about  and  galloped  with 
him,  till  the  camp  was  out  of  sight. 

For  once  the  cool  imperturbability  of  Don 
Augustin  had  deserted  him. 

"Name  of  God,  Don  Jos6  Antonio,  but  we  have 
been  fools!"  he  panted.  "I  know  him  now. 
He  is  none  other  than  MacNamara— Padre 
MacNamara,  to  whom  Pico  gave  the  lands.  By 
the  God  above,  I  swear  it  I  I  recognized  him  when 
he  rode  up,  his  head  bared,  his  beard  covered— 
those  big  eyes— tha|;  broad  brow.  Madre  de 
Dios,  it  is  surely,  surely  he!" 

Arillo  sat  still,  attentive,  wordless.  "Yes, 
yes,"  he  finaU>  admitted,  "I  believe  thee.  It  is 
none  other.  Always  have  I  known  that  I  had 
seen  him  somewhere  before." 

Alvaro's  words  needed  no  other  confirmation 
than  the  insistent,  intangible,  haunting  memories 
that  had  come  to  the  Don  at  every  sight  of 
Ahnagro's  large,  dark  face  and  at  the  tones  of 
his  deep  voice. 

Not  a  word  was  spoken  as  the  two  men,  bend- 
ing over  their  saddles,  galloped  toward  the  dty. 
The  minds  of  both  were  busy  with  the  same 
thought.  The  supposed  Spaniard  had  been  with 
them  ever  since  the  first  attack  on  Gillie.  They 
recalled  a  hundred  corroborative  incidents, — h«'s 
participation  in  the  attempt  to  murder  tLe 
American  prisoners;  his  attempt  later  to  have 


VANUELA  STRIKES 


them 


373 


It  to  Mexico,  an  attempt  that  was  frus- 
trated only  by  the  firm  opposition  of  the  two  men 
now  gaUoping  toward  the  pueblo;  his  continual 
soundmg  m  the  ears  of  the  Californians  the  tale 
of  the  greatness  and  glory  of  the  British  Empire 
Enghsh  sovereigns  and  guineas  had   been   for 
many  months  circulating  freely  in  the  pueblo. 
MacNamara  had  ever  been  in  close  touch  with 
Flores:  he  had  had  time  to  do  much.    What  had 
he  accomplished  ?    Could  it  be  that  he  and  Flores 
were  in  a  conspiracy  to  deUver  California  to 
England?    Why  otherwise  had  the  British  fleet 
hngered  through  the  autumn  months  at  Monterey 
and  later  at  Santa  Barbara? 

Arriving  at  the  house  of  AriUo,  the  two  men  at 
once  sent  couriers  gaUoping  with  secret  messages 
to  every  officer  upon  whom  they  could  depend 
warning  them  to  slip  away  from  the  camp  during 
the  early  hours  of  the  night.    But  it  was  near 
midnight    before    they    gathered,    an    anxious, 
excited  group  in  the  big  room  of  the  Arillo  home. 
In  awestruck  silence  they  listened  while  Don 
Augustin  told  his  tale.    Not  one  man  doubted 
Its  trut!i,  not  one  could  be  found  who  knew  aught 
of  Don  Pablo  de  Ahnagro  before  his  sudden 
appearance  in  the  pueblo  during  the  days  of 
Gillie's  rule.    Every  action  of  his  since  they  had 
known  him  confirmed  Alvaro's  theory. 
AH  eyes  were  turned  on  Don  Andreas  Pico, 


-%i 


V4    THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

upon  whose  presence  Alvaro  had  insisted.  What 
would  his  attitude  be  ?  1  or  once  in  his  fun-loving 
life  there  was  no  merriment  in  Pico's  face.  Rising 
to  his  feet,  he  said  slowly: 

"For  some  time  have  I  suspected  the  man. 
Always  has  he  boasted  to  me  of  the  might  and 
justice     f  England.    But  yesterday  he  vowed 
that  if  it  was  the  English  we  were  facing  instead 
of  the  Americans,  he  woa^  not  fight.    He  was 
speaking  of  the  English  ships  at  Santa  Barbara 
when  we  were  intem^pted.    Whatever  his  aims, 
I  do  not  believe  there  is  any  plot  to  which  Piores 
is  a  party.    Nor  am  L    I  am  not  for  England, 
though  Pio  was.    I  am  for  a  free  California! 
Now  let  us  make  sure  before  we  accuse  Flores. 
Let  us  ride  at  once  to  the  powder  house  at  San 
Gabriel,    capture  the  man,  and  force  from  him 
the  truth." 

Without  a  dissentmg  voice,  this  plan  was 
adopted,  and  Arillo,  Alvaro,  Pico,  and  a  dozen 
others,  angry  and  determined,  were  soon  galloping 
through  the  night  toward  San  Gabriel. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 
"the  bnd  is  now  in  sight" 
JJUGO  VANUELA  bent  the  lithe  sword  blade 
almost  double,  and  smiled  as  the  sliiny  strip 
of  steel  flashed  back  into  place.  His  heavy 
mouth  was  gnm,  but  it  was  plain  that  his  thoughts 
were  not  unpleasant. 

"Let  us  begin,  Pedro,"  be  suggested.    "It  is 
now  some  weeks  since  we  have  had  a  bout." 

The  middle-aged  man  seated  on  the  bench  by 
the  door  of  the  adobe,  merding  the  cord  on  the 
handle  of  a  rapier,  glanced  up  at  Hugo  curiously. 
"Jesus  Maria,  Hugo,  my  son,  but  thou  art 
ever  anxious  for  sword  play.    WeU  art  thou  aware 
that  I  have  LM^^ht  thee  all  I  know.    Even  now 
thou  art  ahnost  a  match  for  me.    Truly  do  I 
believe  that  with  the  rapier  thou  art  the  equal 
of  any  man  in  California." 
Vanuela's  eyes  brightened  with  gratilied  pride. 
"J.t  is  kind  thou  art  to  siiy  so,  r:y  Pedro,  yet 
it  is  but  thy  years  that  teU  againsi:  thee.    Easily 
and  often  canst  thou  touch  me  yet." 

Pedro  was  still  strong  a:  d  arect,  but  his  grizzled 
hair  and  wrinkled  brow  told  of  advancing  years. 
At  Hugo's  words  he  ceased  Lis  work  to  gaze 
moodily  at  the  beU  tower  of  San  Gabriel  Mission 
Church.      few  yards  away.    His  though';s  were 

'75 


^76  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

of  the  far^ff  days  when  his  had  been  the  best 
blade  m  aU  th*?  army  of  the  long  of  Spain. 

•Ay  de  mi."  he  sighed.    "Yes,  it  is  true:  I 
grow  old.    Pot  Dios,  so  must  it  come  to  aU  of 
us,  but,"  he  shrugged  his  shoulders,  "I  have  had 
my  hfe,—  battle  and  march,  women  and  love 
and  wme,  rest  and  food.    One  must  be  content." 
The  two  roUed  up  the  sleeves  of  their  sword 
arms  and  saluted.    As  if  anxious  to  wipe  from  his 
mwnory  Vanuela's  words  of  a  few  moments  before 
Pedro  took  the  offensive  from  the  first.    The 
years  seemed  to  faU  from  him.  and  as  he  wheeled 
about  his  antagonist  his  agile  movements  had 
all  the  supple  grace  of  a  dancer. 

Vanuela,  purely  on  the  defensive,  the  set 
gnm  smile  still  on  his  face,  hardly  moved,  meeting 
every  pass  and  lunge  with  alert  readiness.  Ped. 
redoubled  the  fury  of  his  attack,  only  u  mest 
^th  the  same  impassable  defense.  As  the  fur/ 
of  the  veteran's  sword  play  moderated,  Vanuela, 
with  a  sudden  movement  of  hie  wrist,  sent  the 
old  man's  sword  whirling  to  the  grass. 

Pedro  stood  silent  for  a  moment,  his  shoulders 
droopmg  patheticaUy.  Then  he  walked  back  to 
the  bench  and  resumed  his  seat. 
^^  "Senor  Huf^o  Vanuela,"  he  said  impressively, 
old  as  I  am,  thou  art  the  only  man  in  California 
can  disarm  me.  I  will  fence  no  more  with  thee- 
thou  art  my  master." 


"THE  END  IS  NOW  IN  SIGHT"     ay, 

Vanuela  stood  silently  cutting  hissing  drJet  in 
jne  air  with   the  shimmering  streak  of  steel 
There  was  a  look  of  deep  meditation  oq  his  face* 
Pedro  stared  at  him  wonderingly. 

"Why  dost  thou  love  it  so,  Don  Hugo?  For 
fuU  seven  years  hast  thou  come  to  me.  ever  since 
thou  wast  a  boy,  and  paid  .e  for  my  teaching 
many  a  round  piece  of  American  gold.  "^Why  isi? 
so?  There  IS  but  httle  use  for  the  sword  in  these 
days  even  though  there  be  war  in  the  land.  tS 
bullet  IS  everj^g;  the  good  steel  noth  ig~not 

as  m  the  old  days."  he  sighed.  "Why  .ft  thou 
love^  the  clatter  of  the  rapiers,  may  I  be  pet 
netted  to  ask?    It  is  in  truth  the  rLiXe 

Vwuela's  blue  eyes  contracted  to  mere  slits. 

^Irlrr'^.T^f'   ^^   ^   ^^«   ^^«  light   his 

dark  face  looked  ahnost  diabolic.         »    »      "" 

J'Jr^''^  '^  *  "^•"  h«  ^"^  slowly,  "an  enemv 
that  I  would  kiU  by  the  sword."  ^  ^^y' 

^yr'f.  ■I^'^'  ^^*  '^  '^-"  The  old  man  shud- 
deredahttle.  "ThegoodGodpity  him,  whoever 
he  be.  If  ever  he  meets  thee  with  steel— as  I 
^ve,  the  prayers  of  his  patron  saint  will  avaa 
him  nothmg.  And  that  fine  sword  of  thine- 
there  is  none  like  it  outside  of  old  Spain." 

as  he  brki':!  [t  r'  '^''''"  ^^  «"^°  ^^^^^ 

Bidding    Pedro   farewell,    he    vaulted    to   his 


'i.- 


278    THE  DONS  OF  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

horse's  back  and  with  head  bont  in  thought  walked 
his  steed  past  the  slowly  crumbling  arches  of  the 
mission  courtyard. 

Truly,    in   the  present   condition   of   affairs, 
there  was  but  little  comfort  for  Hugo  Vanuela. 
Never  at  any  time  had  the  outlook  for  the  final 
success  of  the  Caiifomians  been  so  promising. 
Neither  the  spectacular  defeat  of  the  Americans 
at  Dominguez  field,  nor  the  fact  that  many  of 
the  Califomian  officers,  among  them  Arillo  and 
Alvaro,  were  now  openly  in  favor  of  beginning 
peace    negotiations   with    the   Americans,    had 
caused  him  much  anxiety.    But  since  the  tri- 
imiphant  return  of  Don  Andreas  Pico,  victorious 
from  the  field  of  San  Pascual  with  the  captured 
cannon,  and  the  astoimding  news  that  the  Cali- 
fomian lances  had  met  the  dreaded  American 
soldiers  from  the  mysterious  east  and  defeated 
them,   confidence  reigned   supreme  among  the 
insurgents.    It  was  a  confidence  so  enthusia&iic 
and  universal  that  even  the  cold  temperament  of 
Vanuela  Tras  impressed. 

From  the  south  came  no  news.  Stockton 
was  still  at  San  Diego,  afraid,  Flores  claimed,  to 
face  the  long  lances  of  the  caballeros.  Though 
Fremont  was  marching  south,  only  half  of  his  men 
were  said  to  be  mounted,  and  his  progress,  owing 
to  the  inclement  weather,  was  painfully  slow. 
Rumors,  too,  were  flying  thick  and  fast  that  the 


V?, 


"THE  END  IS  NOW  IN  SIGHT"     279 

war  with  the  United  States  was  ended,  and  that 
California  was  to  remain  a  part  of  Mexico. 

But  the  most  portentous  news  of  the  last  few 
days— news  that  had  thriUed  every  Califomian 
heart  with  joy  and  brought  but  troubled  frowns 
to  the  face  of  Vanuela— was  that  the  powder- 
making  experiments  at  San  Gabriel  under  the 
direction  of  MacNamara  had  proved  a  complete 
success.  Altogether,  the  chances  of  the  Americans 
retummg  victorious  to  the  pueblo  were  becoming 
more  and  more  remote. 

Turning  his  horse  at  the  mission  church,  Hugo 
trotted  up  the  silent,  dusty  street  to  the  powder 
house.  The  sentry  at  the  door  barred  the  way 
but  MacNamara,  his  face  blackened  and  his 
hands  sooty,  came  to  the  door  and  greeted  him 
cheerily. 

During  the  last  few  months  the  secret  agent  had 
been  far  from  idle.  In  the  pueblo  he  stood  high. 
His  commanding  yet  prepossessing  personaHty, 
ha  httle  touch  of  the  old-land  accent,  his  knowl- 
edge of  the  great  world  beyond  the  seas,  his 
nevCT-failing  courtesy,  had  proved  a  passport  to 
the  hearts  and  the  homes  of  the  people.  In  pubUc 
gatherings  his  views  were  listened  to  with  respect 
and  attention. 

AU  this  was  but  part  of  the  waiting  game  he 
was  now  playing.    Ah-eady  a  trustworthy  handful 
who  suspected  if  they  did  not  know  of  his  real 


il 


28o  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

mission,  had  given  him  their  promise  of  support 
when  the  time  should  come.  And  that  that 
time  would  come— when  the  northward  advance 
of  Stockton  would  remind  the  Califomian  leaders 
that  their  lives  would  be  forfeit,  and  when  the 
American  commander,  whom  MacNamara  believed 
to  be  arrogant  and  relentless,  would  refuse  to 
grant  amnesty  to  the  men  of  the  broken  paroles- 
he  was  absolutely  certain.  Face  to  face  with  the 
crowning  indignity  of  ^  death  on  the  scaffold, 
the  leaders  of  the  Califomians  would  have  no 
choice  but  an  appeal  to  the  British  commodore. 

Within  the  low,  heavy-beamed  room,  a  dozen 
Indian  boys  were  engaged  in  grinding  material 
m  mortars.  In  the  far  comer  Father  Sanchez  of 
the  mission  church  was  absorbed  in  the  manipula- 
tion of  a  pair  of  scales.  Bags  of  crude  saltpeter 
and  barrels  of  sulphur  stood  in  the  comers,  while 
a  long  table  was  piled  high  with  the  burnt  and 
blackened  twigs  of  the  willow. 

^'Is  everything  going  well?"  inquired  Hugo. 

"Most  exceUently,  my  worthy  friend.  Look 
at  this.'*  MacNamara  reached  into  a  covered 
box  and  fished  out  a  handful  of  shining  black 
grains. 

It  was  with  secret  reluctance  that  the  English- 
man had  taken  charge  of  the  powder-making 
experiments.  He  had  no  particular  desire  to  see 
the  Califomians  well  equipped  with  a  supply  of 


"THE  END  IS  NOW  IN  SIGHT"     a8i 

good  powder.  But  the  command  of  Flores  had 
been  peremptory.  The  manufacture  of  powder 
wa^  at  that  period,  part  of  the  training  of  every 
military  officer,  and  of  that  fact  Flores  was  weU 
aware.  The  secret  agent  could  find  no  good 
r^onforrrfusal.    He  consoled  himself ,  however. 

rln^Vt'^x!^  '^*  ^  *^"  «^^  of  events 
demanded   it   he   could   easily   adulterate    the 

mixture  at  the  last  moment.  Even  that  might  not 
be  necessary.  He  was  ahnost  ready  now  to 
a^mmumcate  with  the  commodore  at  Santa 
Barbara,  and  the  moment  the  British  marines 
amyed  m  the  neighborhood  of  the  pueblo  he 
would  see  to  it  that  the  powder  house  and  aU 
that  It  contained  were  placed  in  their  possession, 
to  be  used.  If  necessary,  against  the  Califomians 
themselves.    This  settled,  his  energetic  nature 

soon  lost  it^lf  in  the  joy  of  accomplishment. 

Fnend  Hugo."  he  said  triumphantly,  "not 
even  m  the  armories  of  the  king  of  Spain  is  better 
powder  bemg  made.  Give  my  thy  pistol,  and 
come  without." 

He  loaded,  and  fired  at  a  tree  a  few  yards  away. 
A  sharp,  dean  report,  and  the  bark  flew  from  the 
trunk  m  ghstening  white  chips. 

h^if^;^:,"  r?^^  ^^""^^'    His  eyes  were 
half  closed,  but  he  was  aU  attention.    Behind 

his  dark  brow  his  brain  was  busy.    He  was  face 
to  face  with  a  damning  crisis  in  his  plans 


r- 


282  THE  DONS  OF  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

"The  trouble  was,"  went  on  MacNamara,  still 
full  of  his  achievement,  "that  in  the  powder  you 
used  for  the  first  sho.s  at  Dominguez  there  was  too 
much  sulphur  and  charcoal."  He  waved  his  hand 
toward  the  heap  of  blackened  twigs  on  the  table 

Vanuela  stood  drinking  in  every  word,  his  eyes 
still  half  closed. 

"Too  much  sulphur— too  much  charcoal. 
What  effect  has  that  on  the  powder?"  he  queried 
carelessly. 

"It  makes  it  slow  t.?  go  off— much  smoke 
and  httle  force.  They  teU  me  the  cannon  balls 
smiply  rolled  alo.  ^  the  ground  at  Dominguez 
until  the  last  shots,  when  they  used  the  old 
powder." 

Vanuela  nodded  confirmation. 

"Then,  too,"  continued  the  Englishman,  "it 
is  largely  a  matter  of  the  right  proportions." 
He  reached  down  into  a  cask  and  drew  out  a 
handful  of  grayish  dust.     "Seventy-five  parts  of 
saltpeter,   thirteen  of  charcoal,   and  twelve  of 
sulphur.    This  mixture  we  dampen  till  somewhat 
moist.    Then  it  is  thoroughly  kneaded.    We  then 
press  It  between  these  heavy  weights,  using  this 
lever,    he  pomted  to  a  huge  beam  weighted  with 
rocks  which  ran  the  length  of  the  room,  "until 
the  moisture  is  squeezed  out.    Then  the  hard 
material  produced  is  again  pulverized,  and  behold, 
we  have  powder,  and  good  powder." 


"THE  END  IS  NOW  IN  SIGHT"     283 
sleepy  eyes  were  searching  the  room. 


a  few  notes  of  a  bugle  call 


Vanuela 

and  he  whistled  ^^ 

"This  is  sulphur,"  he  laid  hiTh^d  on  the  big 
box  near  him;  "and  this  is  powdered  charcoal; 
and  this  is  the  correct  mixture,  ready  to  be  wet."' 
He  laid  his  hand  on  each  as  he  spoke. 
"So-0-0,"  he  continued,  "it  seems  simple,  after 
all.  Ah,  my  dear  Ahnagro,  we  are  indeed  for- 
tunate to  have  foimd  you." 

He  looked  amazed  admiration  into  the  other's 
face.    MacNamara's  eyes  laughed  back. 
"How  goes  it  in  th*^  pueblo?" 
The  words  themselves  were  of  no  import,  but 
the   secret    agent's   sharp   glance  was   fuU    of 
meaning 

"I  hiive  news."    Vanuela's  voice  sank  to  a 
whisper.    "Meet  me—can  you  meet  me  here 
say,  at  midnight?" 

MacNamara  frowned  for  a  moment,  and  looked 
at  Hugo  questioningly. 

"Why  here?"  he  demanded.  "Oh,  well,"  he 
resumed  quickly,  "it  is  a  quiet  spot.  I  have 
access  here  at  aU  times,  and  there  is  no  chance  of 
eavesdropping  or  interruption.  There  is  always 
a  guard  at  the  door.  I  wiU  dismiss  him,  and 
wait  for  you.  Good,  then  I  snail  expect  you— 
at  midnight." 

Vanuela  rode  away.  On  his  sinister  counte- 
nance   was    a    look    of    vicious    determination. 


■  m 


k 


r 


384  THE  DONS  OF  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

ITirough  his  mind  ran  the  words  of  the  EngUshman 
the  day  he  had  revealed  his  plans  and  identity: 

J  Z^  ^11  ^^*^  y°"'  "^y  ^"^"d."  Hugo 
chuckled  auchbly.  "Those  wer«  thy  words  ?o 
me,  Ahnagro." 

It  was  nearing  midnight  when  MacNamara. 
swathed  m  a  heavy  serape.  for  the  December 
inght  was  chill  stepped  up  to  the  sentry  at 
the  door  of  the  powder  house  and  remarked 
graciously: 

"Pablo,  my  boy,  ypu  may  if  you  wish  go  and 

smg  a  verse  or  two  to  your  lady  love.    IwiUtake 
your  place  till  sunrise." 

Directly  Vanuela,  who  had  been  lurking  behind 
the  choir  steps  of  the  mission  church,  watching 
for  MacNamara's  arrival,  sauntered  in. 

For  the  last  three  weeks  the  EngUshman  had 
heea  urging  on  him  the  supreme  importance  of 
Haste  m  the  matter  of  signatures  to  the  petition 
addressed  to  the  British  commodore  at  Santo 
Barbara,  asking  him  in  no  equivocal  terms    j 
declare  a  protectorate  over  California.    Mac- 
Namara,  after  having  been  sharply  reprimanded 
by  Flores  for  his  many  absences  from  the  powder 
ho^.  had  left  the  matter  to  Vanuela,  who  had 
been  for  days  buoying  him  up  with  encouraging 
but  false  reports  of  the  progress  he  was  maldng 
.      Have  you  the  list,  Hugo?"  he  questioned 
impatiently. 


•THE  END  IS  NOW  IN  SIGHT"     285 

"I  have."  Vanuela  fumbled  in  his  clothing 
with  his  left  hand.  His  right  was  hidden  behind 
his  back. 

"Had  you  not  better  strike  a  light,  that  you 
may  read  the  signatures?"  Hugo  suggested. 

ow^    ^^^*   "*   ^®^^"    snapped    MacNamara. 
Man,  are  you  mad?    Do  you  wish  to  be  blown 
to  the  angels?    You  can  teU  me  the  names  you 
have."  ^ 

"I  cannot  remember  them  all,"  Hugo  said 
hesitatingly.   "Pico,  Aguilar,  Del  VaUe,  Alvaro— " 

"Alvaro!"  There  was  startled  increduHty  in 
MacNamara's  voice  os  he  peered  sharply  at 
Vanuela.  Alvaro  he  knew  as  the  bosom  friend 
of  Arillo. 

^^  "Good,"  he  remarked  after  a  moment's  pause." 
"Listen,  friend  Hugo;  the  time  has  come  for 
action— for  me  to  ride  to  Santa  Barbara.    I  wiU 
show  this  paper  to  the  commodore,  but  only  to 
warn  him  that  there  is  a  movement  among  the 
Califomians  in  favor  of  England,  and  show  him 
my  credentials.    Later,  when  Stockton  starts  on 
his  march  north  and  when  Plores  begins  to  realize 
the  uselessness  of  further  resistance,  I  wiU  point 
out  to  them  their  possible  fate  if  Stockton  insists 
on  the  appHcation  of  the  full  penalty  of  mihtary 
law  in  the  matter  of  the  paroles.    Then  we  can 
double  the  number  of  the  signatures.    It  will 
surely  be  unanimous.    When  that  time  comes,  as 
It 


h  I 


986    THE  DONS  0^  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

it  surely  wiU,  I  shal  go  again  to  Santa  Barbara 
with  the  complete  list  and  urge  the  commodore  to 
hoist  the  British  flag.  This."  tapping  the  papers 
in  his  hand,  "will  show  the  world  that  we  have 
the  wnsent  of  the  Califomians-that  we  are  not. 
hke  the  Americans,  unwelcome  conquerors.  When 
I  return  the  second  time  it  wiU  be  as  Captain 
Eugene  MacNamara  of  her  Majesty's  Royal 
Mannes. 

"Themainpartof  this  work,  the  mixing  of  the 
ingredients,  is  now  complete,"  he  (declared,  as 
he  laid  his  hand  on  the  edge  of  the  barrel  by  his 
.  side.  "Father  Sanchez  and  the  boys  can  do  the 
wettmg  and  pressing  as  weU  as  I.  To-morrow  at 
midnight  I  will  start.  Do  thou  teU  them  I  have 
gone  to  San  Pedro  in  search  v'  more  saltpeter. 
Ah.  Hugo."  he  added  triumphantly,  "thou  hast 
been  a  friend  indeed.  There  will  be  place,  power, 
and  gold  for  thee  under  the  new  r6gime.  It  has 
been  a  long  and  hard  road,  but  the  end  is  now  in 

"Yes,"  assented  Vanuela  slowly,  "the  end  is 
now  in  sight." 

For  a  moment  he  seemed  pondering  some 
problem. 

"There  is,"  he  suggested  "ahnost  Kght  enough 
at  the  window— the  moonlight  is  very  bright— to 
read  the  names  or  at  least  to  note  how  many  there 
are."    Vanuela's  tongue  was  moistening  his  dry 


"THE  END  IS  NOW  IN  SIGHT"     ag; 

Hps.    In  the  hand  held  behind  his  back  was  a 
bnght,  metallic  gleam. 

TTie  Englishman  leaned  toward  the  window,  his 
head  b^t  to  one  side,  the  paper  held  dose  to  his 

CI*    ..^""^^^^ '^  turned  toward  Vanuela. 

Slowly,  deHberately,  as  if  to  make  the  surety  of 
the  thrust  absolute.  Vanuela  raised  his  arm  high 
above  his  head.  For  an  instant,  while  the  mow- 
hght  ghtttt^  on  the  broad  blade,  his  eyes  wer^ 
fixed  on  the  swelling  cords  of  the  other's  throat. 

lHai  vwth  a  merciless  downward  sweep  he  .drove 
tho  knife  to  the  haft  in  MacNamara's  neck. 

The  strcken  man  dropped  the  paper,  his  knees 
bent,  and  his  mouth  opened  in  a  gasp.    With  a 
quick,  certain  movement  Vanuela  snatched  the 
serape  from  the  table  and  wound  it  around  his 
head    and    mouth.    The    EngUshman    tottered 
backward,  gurgling  miserably  and  clutching  at 
Its  smothering  folds,  while   Vanuela  bent  over 
him,  dnvmg  the  blade  again  and  again  irto  his 
vict«ns  neck  and  breast.    Then  his  strong  brown 
h^ds  grasped  and  held  the  cloth-enwrapped  head 
and  wnthmg  body  until  it  sank  still  and  silent  to 
the  floor. 

Without  -mwinding  the  doak,  Vanuela's  lone 
fingCTs  found  the  documents.    As  he  wiped  the 
bloodstamed  papers  on  MacNamara's  garments 
he  murmured  vengefully.  '"I  would  have  killed 
you,  my  fnend.'    KiUed  me.  eh?    So-o-o  " 


•88  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

The  man  on  the  floor  opened  his  eyes.  The 
doth  had  fallen  from  his  blood-smeaxed  face. 
He  raised  himself  slightly  on  one  arm.  Por  an 
instant  the  moonlight  glistened  on  his  glassy, 
upturned  eyeballs,  and  from  his  clotted  beard 
came  the  words,  "God— God— save  England. 
God  save— the— " 

Like  a  tiger  Vanuela  was  upon  him.  Again 
and  again  the  knife  found  his  throat,  and  the 
body  fell  back  limp  and  breathless  to  the  floor. 

In  an  instant  Vamtela  was  on  his  feet.  lie 
rushed  to  the  boxes  containing  the  sulphur  and 
the  charcoal  and,  grasping  an  earthenware  vessel, 
dumped  measure  after  measure  of  each  into 
the  cask  contf  •  ling  the  correctly  proportioned 
mixture. 

*'Much  siiioke  and  little  force,"  he  muttered 
gleefully,  as,  reaching  both  arms  deep  into  the 
cask,  he  stirred  the  contents  to  a  semblance  of 
consistency. 

He  led  his  horse  silently  away  in  the  moonlight, 
and  mounted  behind  a  clump  of  sycamores. 

"A  fine  man,  truly,  but  I  could  use  him  no 
further.  He  had  become  troublesome.  'I  would 
have  killed  you,  my  friend,' "  he  chuckled  as  he 
disappeared  in  the  night. 

A  thundering  clatter  of  hoofs  by  the  mission 
church,  and  Arillo,  Alvaro,   Pico,  and  a  dozen 


"THE  END  IS  NOW  IN  SIGHT"     989 

others  who  had  attended  the  secre*  -neetin^-  dashed 
up  to  the  door  of  the  powder  house. 

They  found  within,  hacked  to  death  by  a 
hundred  knife  cute  and  weltering  in  a  pool  of  his 
own  blood,  the  man  whom  they  now  knew  to  be 
Padre  Eugene  MacNamara. 

Wonderingly,  they  bore  him  into  the  moonlight 
and  laid  his  mangled  form  on  the  ground.  Don 
Augustin  alone  seemed  immoveu.  He  had  never 
forgiven  MacNamara  for  his  attempt  on  the 
Uves  of  Willard  and  his  men.  The  silence  was 
broken  by  the  dick  of  his  snuffbox  cover  and  his 
muttered  comment:  "The  devil  has  claimed 
his  own." 

But  the  others  crossed  themselves,  and  shud- 
dered. 


w  I ; 


i !  1 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

THB  TBRROR  OF  THB  8CAFP07*' 

•'QTOCKTON  has  rejected  your  offer  of  peace. 
*^  caballeros;  he  is  determined  to  retake  the 
pw    >lo." 

1  ..e  dusty,  travel-stained  courier  was  addressing 
the  officers  of  the  Califomian  army,  assembled  in 
a  room  of  the  Verdugo  ranch  house.    He  had  just 
returned  from  an  interview  with  the  American 
commander,  who,  with  his  entire  force,  except  a 
hundred  men  left  as  a  garrison  at  San  Diego,  was 
now  halfway  between  San  Diego  and  Los  Angeles. 
Arillo,  Alvaro,  and  Cota  had  at  last  succeeded 
in  inducing  their  compatriots  to  make  a  tentative 
offer  of  pf^ace.    At  the  council  of  war  held  a  week 
ago— a  ccmca  that  had  lasted  through  twenty- 
four    hours    of    wranglir^— the    majority    had 
finaUy  voted  in  favor  of  extending  th-  olive 
branch  to  the  ad\ancing  Americans.    Tlie   ourier 
had  galloped  south  with  a  written  communication 
from  Flores  to  Stockton,  a  c^)mmunication  which 
suggested  a  complete  suspension  of  hostilities, 
leaving  the  fate  of  California  to  be  detennined  by 
the  result  of  the  war  in  Mexico.    He  was  now 
presenting  a  report  of  his  mission. 

"Not  for  a  moment  would  the  American  hearken 
to  your  suggestion,  sefiores,"  went  on  the  courier 


THE  TERROR  OP  THE  SCAFFOLD    .91 

In  A  troubled  voice.    'Tor  Dio«.  hardly  was  I 
treated  with  common  courtesy." 

In  detaU  he  related  the  incidents  of  the  in- 
terview. Commodore  Stockton  had  glanced 
hurriedly  over  the  document,  and  then  remarked 
contemptuously: 

"Humph—signed    by    Flores— calls    himself 
governor  and  miUtary  commandant  of  California 
There  is  but  one  governor  of  California,  and  his 
name  is  not  Flores.    There  is,  however,  a  man  of 
that  rame,  a  disgraced  and  dishonored  rebel  who 
has  broken  his  parole.    I  wiU  have  him  hanged 
when  he  falls  into  my  hands.    I  suppose  that  is 
the  feUow  whose  name  is  at  the  end  of  this  scrawl  " 
As  the  courier  concluded,  there  was  silence  in 
the  htUe  room.    Every  eye  was  turned  on  Flores 
whose  face  blanched  a  litUe  as  he  tugged  at  his 

mustache.    But  his  voice  was  cahn  enough  as  he 
queried: 

Dcii^^or  °^*  ^^  *^^^*^  proposition,  Don 
"He  did.  seiior.  He  stated  that  he  would 
accept  a  surrender  of  our  forces  provided  that 
vre  surrender  to  him,  unconditionally,  the  person 
of  our  commandant  and  governor,  Don  Jos6 
Mana  Flores,  to  be  tried  for  his  life.  Otherwise 
he  wiU  court-martial  and  hang  aU  the  cabaUeros 
who  have  broken  their  paroles,  when  he  captures 


If 


292    THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

Shocked  and  stunned  by  this  revelation  of  the 
relentlessness  of  the  American  commander,  the 
Dons  sat  for  a  moment  in  wordless  silence.  That 
any  officer  calling  himself  a  gentleman  and  a 
Christian  should  manifest  such  a  cold-blooded 
desire  for  vengeance  was  almost  past  belief. 

Like  a  flash,  anxiety  and  apprehension  gave 
way  to  rage  and  indignation.  The  room  burst 
into  a  babble  of  bitter  ejaculations.  Though  the 
Califomians  had  yielded  to  the  arguments  of 
Arillo  and  Cota,  many  of  them  were  far  from 
convinced  of  the  hopelessness  of  their  cause,  but 
they  had  been  sincere  in  their  desire  to  avoid 
further  bloodshed.  The  Americans  had  met  their 
well-meant  suggestion  by  a  proposition  so  utterly 
insulting  to  honorable  men  that  their  blood 
boiled  within  them. 

*'God  and  his  angelsl"  raged  Cota,  his  fair  face 
flushed  with  passion.  "Does  he  think  we  are 
such  craven  cowards  that  we  would  save  oiu-selves 
by  consenting  to  the  murder  of  our  general? 
Thy  ansT^er,  Don  Domingo,  thy  answer  I"  he 
demanded  vehemently. 

Olivas  had  risen  to  his  feet,  all  the  pride  of  the 
gente  de  razon  manifest  in  his  bearing. 

"To  him  I  said  that  sooner  would  we  die  with 
Flores." 

"Good!  Good!"  came  in  a  unanimous  chorus 
Irom  all  parts  of  the  roona. 


THE  TERROR  OP  THE  SCAFFOLD    993 

"Jesus  Marial  They  are  aU  alike,  the  Amer- 
icans," commented  Flores  bitterly.  "Gillie, 
Stockton,  and  Fremont  who  murdered  the 
unarmed  Benyessaboys—aU  of  them.  Strangers 
^e  are  they  to  honor,  mercy,  and  good  faith." 
But  m  his  pale  face  there  was  a  quiet  heroism  as 
he  added,  "Yet  I  place  myself  in  your  hands. 

amtgos.    Say  but  the  word,  and  I  wiU  yield  myself 
to  the  American." 

"You  shall  not." 

The  words  came  like  a  pistol  shot  from  the  lips 
ofAnUo.  Between  himself  and  the  commandant 
there  had  ever  been  but  little  sympathy,  but  by 
none  among  the  Dons  had  Stockton's  offer  been 
held  a  greater  insult  than  by  Don  Jos6  Antonio. 

"For  Dios,  it  is  an  honor  to  be  so  threatened  by 
the  commodore— an  honor  I  had  not  anticipated," 
was  Don  Augustin's  sarcastic  comment,  as  he 
took  a  rather  deUberate  pinch  of  snuff. 

Don  Andreas  Pico  was  giggling.  "Friend 
Manuel,"  he  said,  turning  to  Garfias,  "'tis  said 
thou  art  one  of  the  best  dancers  in  the  pueblo 
Dost  thou  think  thou  couldst  dance  as  weU  as 
usual  on  air.?  I  wonder  now,  will  there  be 
music?" 

Hugo  Vanuela,  seated  in  a  comer,  his  chair 
tipped  back,  made  no  comment.  He  had  earnestly 
supported  Arillo  and  Cota  in  regard  to  sending  the 
offer  of  peace  to  Stockton.    He  had  reasons  for 


,.^;i 


.  |. 


394  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

knowing  what  the  American's  answer  would  be. 
Though  his  sphinx-like  countenance  hid  his 
emotions,  his  cruel  heart  was  throbbing  triumph- 
antly as,  with  half-closed  eyes,  he  lazily  watched 
the  Dons  struggling  in  the  meshes  of  the  net  his 
wily  brain  had  woven. 

It  was  exactly  the  continge-i<y  long  foreseen  by 
the  shrewd  mind  of  Eugene  MacNamara.  Hugo 
could  not  restrain  a  grin  as  he  thought  of  the 
Englishman  lying  in  his  unmarked  grave  at 
San  Gabriel.  * 

"Pot  Dios,  but  he  was  clever,"  he  soliloquized. 

Don  Jos6  Antonio  was  silent.  There  was 
anguish  in  his  face,  but  it  was  not  the  anguish  of 
fear.  Not  of  himself  was  he  thinking,  as  he 
stared  unseeingly  at  the  opposite  waU.  Before 
him  arose,  cruel  in  its  vividness  and  deceptive 
promise,  the  mental  picture  of  the  evening  in  his 
own  home  when  he  had  seen  his  daughter's  eyes 
full  of  joy  and  love  upraised  to  the  flushed, 
happy  face  of  John  Carroll. 

He  was  convinced  of  the  utter  hopelessness  of 
the  Calif omian  cause;  convinced,  too,  of  the 
relentlessness  of  the  American  commander.  Sud- 
denly he  drew  himself  up  with  a  quick  Uttle  shrug 
of  resolution.  His  cahn  words  expressed  the 
unanimous  sentiment  of  the  meeting: 

"We  have  no  choice,  evidently,  but  to  fight— to 
fight  to  the  end." 


THE  TERROR  OP  THE  SCAFFOLD    295 

What  force  has  the  American,  Seflor  Olivas  ? ' ' 
inquired  the  commandant. 

"He  has  about  five  hundred  men,  all  on 
foot,  and  armed  with  carbines  and  bayonets  " 
responded  the  messenger.  "They  are  marching 
m  a  hoaow  square  inclosing  about  a  hundred 
head  o.  cattle  and  several  wagons.  The  country 
being  bare  of  herds,  they  slaughter  their  cattle 
for  food  as  they  are  needed.  I  saw  six  cannon; 
there  may  be  more.  They  are  marching  slowly 
on  account  of  the  cattle,  making  about  ten  miles 
a  day." 

^^  "CabaUeros,"  said  Flores,  rising  to  his  feet, 
"marshal  your  divisions.  We  march  at  once  to 
take  up  a  position  at  the  Jaboneria  ford  of  the 
San  Gabriel  River.  They  will  attempt  to  cross 
there  to-morrow  or  the  day  after." 

They  lost  no  time.  In  half  an  hour  the  long 
lines  of  cavalry  were  trailing  over  tlie  level  plain 
toward  the  pueblo. 

Don  Jos6  Antonio,  with  Manuel  by  his  side, 
rode  slowly  across  the  plaza  toward  his  own  home! 
Soberly  his  grave  eyes  rested  on  the  figures  of  his 
wife  and  daughter.  They  stood  on  the  veranda 
wavmg  their  kerchiefs  in  joyous  recognition,  a^ 
the  troops  filed  slowly  past.  Servolo  Palera 
slowed  his  horse  for  a  moment,  and  looked  at  the 
girl  long  and  earnestly,  his  soul  in  his  eyes.  But 
she  did  not  see  him;  her  face  was  turned  away. 


it)- 


iA 


!  i 


296  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

toward  her  father  and  Manuel.  Then  his  chin 
sank  on  his  breast,  and  he  rode  on. 

Seated  within,  Don  Jos6  Antonio  told  them  the 
stoiy — the  sending  of  the  courier  with  the  proffer 
of  peace,  and  the  determination  of  Stockton  to 
take  the  uttermost  vengeance  for  the  broken 
paroles. 

"My  dear  wife,"  he  said,  "I  will  be  frank 
with  thee.  I  fear  we  cannot  defeat  the  Ameri- 
cans. In  that  case,  the  worst  he  threatens  may 
come  to  pass." 

The  sefLora  sat  dazed,  wordless,  pale  with  horror. 
Manuel,  standing  by  his  father's  chair,  was 
weeping  silently.  Loreto,  her  hands  on  her 
heaving  bosom,  stared  at  Don  Jos6  Antonio, 
incredulous  terror  in  her  eyes.  Then  with  a  low 
moan  she  threw  her  arms  about  him,  and  sobbed. 

"Holy  Mother,  it  cannot  be!  They  would  not 
— they  could  not — be  so  cruel." 

At  !ast  the  horrible  significance  of  her  husband's 
words  penetrated  the  bentmibed  brain  of  Senora 
Arillo.  Two  large  tears  were  slowly  stealing  down 
her  cheeks. 

"The  robbers!  The  bandits!"  she  cried.  "Oh, 
how  happy  we  were  before  they  came — and 
since,  naught  but  tears  and  blood,  grief  and 
sorrow.    And  now  this — this — " 

Words  failed  her.  Broken  at  last  was  the 
proud  spirit  of  Senoia  Arillo.    Her  head  sank  on 


THE  TERROR  OP  THE  SCAFFOLD   ,g, 
the^table,  and  her  shoulders  shook  mth  heaving 

Dot  Jos6  Antonio,  his  face  ashen,  his  lips 
trembhng,    slowly    .eleased    himself    from    Ws 
daughterV,  dingtog  anm  and  rose  to  to  f«t 
Gravely  he  kissed  his  wife  faiewcH  and,  as  Wo 
came  agam  to  his  arms,  he  whispered  in  h«^^^ 
If  the  worst  happens,  be  kind  to  him-as 

^nt^rV""-  .He  is  not  to  blame.    Even  now 
™ow  hJs  heart  is  aching  like  ours." 
Cto  him  the  girl  turned  an  indignant  glance 
Never,  never,  father.    If_if  it  comi^^^-she 

words  -  to  the  end  of  my  days  shall  I  loathe  aU 
Americans  with  an  undying  hatred  " 

Don  Jos«  Antonio  seemed  to  be  giving  wav 
under  the  ordeal.  Suddenly  his  iaS7^g^! 
Itpewfinnahnost  cheerful.  To  whom  if  ^t 
hmi,  the  husband  and  the  father,  could  these  look 
for  comfort  in  this  hour  of  their  tribulatiW  ,  He 
must  have  courage  for  all. 

on"t?.°  TfTZ  '°'" """  ^^'  ^  •>«  ^  i^  hand 
^hS*  ^  °*  ^  ""^S  wife.    "It  is  not  yet 
^ded.    We  may  win.    Or  Stockton  may  rel^t 
o^-many  things  may  happen.    Be  hoprf-T^d 
S7^?h  TT^'y  *°  the  Holy  Mother  to 

ml^        ^'  °'  °"  *°^«^'  ''ho  to-moTOw 
may  be  our  con.      -ors."  -""'luw 

A  moment  i         of  tender  fareweU,  and  he 


m 


W^. 


298  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

strode  from  the  room  with  a  fsm  step  and  an 
ahnost  debonair  wave  of  his  sombrero. 

As  Arillo  and  Mauuel  cantered  down  the 
street  they  noted  Don  Andreas  Pico  'at  the 
stockade  gate,  bidding  farewell  to  Benito  Willard. 
Pico  was  leading  a  beautiful  white  horse,  saddled 
and  bridled. 

"My  dear  friend,  Don  Benito,"  Don  Andreas 
was  saying  as  Don  Jos6  Antonio  and  Manuel,  in 
response  to  his  beckoning  hand,  halted  at  the  gate, 
"you  and  your  men  are  now  free  on  parole.  We 
must  take  awiy  your  guards.  We  are  going  to 
fight  Stockton,  and  we  need  every  man.  Here  is 
the  best  of  my  hlancos.  On  his  back  you  are 
perfectly  safe.  He  can  outdistance  any  horse  in 
California.  K  I  meet  death  in  battle,  do  you 
give  him  to  my  brother  Pio,  who  may  possibly 
return  after  the  war  is  over." 

"Thank  you,  thank  you,  Don  Andreas,"  replied 
Willard.  "Now,  my  dear  friend,  do  take  care  of 
yourself.  With  Stockton  are  some  of  Fremont's 
men  of  Gillie's  company.  They  are  dead  shots. 
Don  Andreas,  and  you,  Don  Jos6  Antonio,  I  beg 
of  you,  do  not  expose  yourselves  unnecessarily. 
It  means  certain  death." 

"I  will  remember,  Don  Benito.  Thank  you, 
my  friend,"  replied  Arillo  gravely. 

The  emotional  soul  of  Don  Andreas  was  deeply 
touched  by  the  earnest  solicitude  in  the  American's 


THE  TERROR  OP  THE  SC/J'PO-.D    agg 
voice.    The  teardrops  hung  heavy  on  his  eye- 
ashes,  but  the  whimsical  smile  timbledL  h^ 
lips  as  he  bantered  back:  "«»^ied  on  his 

••Bah,  no  Andreas,  y  no  tnono."i 
A  horseman  whirled  up  the  street,  and  reined 
his  horse  m  front  of  the  group. 

••The  compliments  of  Commandant  Plores  " 
he  said  as  he  salufj»ri     "ti,^  .    ^iores, 

•  vx   . ,  saiutea.       The  enemy  have  h«»pn 

tTJrl  !.  J""""*™  fofd-  We  are  to  meet 
them  ttere  to-morrow.  He  urges  that  you  ^ 
the  column  at  once."  ' 

sJ^of  lf7^-  "^^^  °"  *«  silver-chased 

'No  Andreas,  and  no  monkey. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 


ii  I 

Hi 


TRB  DRBAM  OF  JOSB  EL  RUFO 

JOSE  awoke  with  a  start.  He  was  lying  on  a 
pallet  of  straw,  staring  at  the  small  square 
of  a  barred  window.  He  remembered  now  his 
midnight  conference  with  Don  Jesus  Pico,  the 
alarm  at  the  door,  the  crash  of  splintering  wood 
as  it  gave  way  before  the  musket  butts  of  the 
Americans,  the  arrest  of  Pico  and  himself,  and 
the  march  through  the  darlmp.ss  to  San  Luis 
Obispo. 

The  boy  drew  his  hand  across  his  brow,  tossing 
back  the  drooping  lock  of  red,  and  the  brooding 
melancholy  deepened  on  his  face.  Forgotten  was 
the  calamitous  end  of  his  perilous  ride,  for  with 
ever-increasing  clearness  the  strange  vision  of  his 
father  had  again  come  to  him  in  the  night.  But 
this  time,  as  had  never  happened  before,  the 
man  had  risen  from  the  chair,  and  his  lips  had 
moved  in  speech. 

The  tramp  of  marching  feet  without,  the  thud 
of  muskets  on  the  soft  sod,  sharp  military  com- 
mands, and  the  boy,  his  dream  forgotten,  rushed 
to  the  window. 

A  few  yards  from  the  old  mission  of  San  Luis 
Obispo,  Fremont's  four  himdred  men  were  drawn 
up  in  three  sides  of  a  hollow  square.    At  the 

300 


nil 


THE  DREAM  OP  JOSE  EL  RUPO    301 

open  end  stood  Angelo.  Don  Jesus  Pico's  Indian 
servant,  his  back  against  a  low  hill,  his  hands  tied. 
Mid  a  senous,  surprised  expression  on  his  stoUd 

Ten  frontiersmen,  rifles  in  hand,  stepped  out  of 

fl^'^.^''^  '^^^^  themselves  in  line  in  front 
of  the  Indian  Their  rifles  leveled,  and  as  the 
officer  raised  his  pword  and  uttered  a  quick  com- 
mand,  a  simultaneous  report  rang  out 

Angelo  stiffened,  whirled  about,  and  fell  forward 
on  his  face. 

Jos6,  sick  at  heart,  turned  away  from  the 
wmdow,  and.  sobbing  bitterly,  threw  himself  on 
his  face  on  the  cot.  In  the  execution  of  Angelo 
tie  had  seen  his  own  approaching  fate. 

"Come,  lad,"  said  a  rough  but  not  unkindly 
voice  at  the  door,  "you  are  wanted  now.  The 
court-martial  is  about  to  begin.  Keep  a  stiff 
upper  hp.    Mebbe  it  wiU  come  out  aU  right  " 

Accompanied  by  the  guard.  Jos6  passed  along 
the  rumed  portico  of  the  mission  and  into  a  large 
room.  The  frontiersman  motioned  him  to  a  seat 
near  the  door. 

Jos6,  absorbed  in  thought,  his  eyes  fixed  on  the 
floor,  gave  but  scant  attention  to  his  surroundings 
He  w^  thinking  of  his  home  in  the  pueblo;  of  the 
veranda  where  he  had  been  wont  to  sit  with 
Manuel  and  Delfina;  of  the  last  day  he  had  seen 
tier  at  the  river's  edge,  the  day  of  the  army's 


I 

If   »1 


m 


303    THE  DONS  OF  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

return,  when  with  love  in  her  eyes  she  had  ahnost 
begged  him  to  return  home.  And  now  he  was 
going  to  die  and  he  would — 

"Jos6  Arillo,  stand  up." 

Jos6  rose  to  his  feet,  his  eyes  still  on  the  floor. 

"You  are  accused  of  being  a  spy  in  the  service 
of  the  rebels.  Are  you  guilty  or  not  guilty?" 
It  was  the  monotonous  official  voice  of  Lieutenant 
Somers,  who  was  seated  at  the  head  of  the  table. 

Jos6  raised  his  head  and  glanced  toward  the 
officers.  Suddenly  his  eyes  lit  on  Somers.  A 
strange  cV  *nge  came  over  the  boy's  countenance. 
Vanished  ^..stantly  was  the  expression  of  dread. 
Though  the  unshed  tears  still  glistened  on  his 
lashes,  a  happy,  peaceful  smile  wreathed  his 
mouth.  For  a  moment  he  swayed  slightly. 
Then  with  arms  bent  at  the  elbows,  hands  and 
fingers  relaxed,  his  head  thrust  slightly  to  the 
front,  he  stepped  quickly  forward,  the  fixed, 
unseeing  look  of  the  somnambulist  on  his  face. 

Softly,  so  softly  that  no  one  in  the  room  could 
hear  a  sound,  he  crept  on,  placing  one  foot  before 
the  other  with  the  utmost  caution. 

"Here,  lad,  you  come  back!  They  don't  want 
you  over  there,"  ordered  the  startled  guard. 

Jos6  was  halfway  down  the  room  now,  creeping 
forward  with  his  slow,  noiseless  step. 

"God  a'mighty,  look  at  Somers!"  gasped  a 
frontiersman. 


Ill- 


THE  DREAM  OP  JOSE  EL  RUPO    303 
ne  lieutenant  was  on  his  feet,  bending  forward 

TTie  room  was  silent,  a  silence  tense  and  oppres- 
W  t^' f^^^^^^r^'  ^  stared  at  the  two  T^ 
J0S6  tip  oeing  forward,  steadily,   surely    E 

i"f/'  "-^^^^^  Some,.,  his  f^  pale.'iis  fo^ 
o.   something   mysterious,   something   uncamiy 

For  Jc,s6  had  seen  before  him.  in  the  ruddy  he.id 
of  Lieutenant  Somers.  outlined  against  the  flig 
on  toe  waU.  his  familiar  vision  of  the  night. 

th.^^^"'^"  ""^'^^  '^^  «"^d-  "Look  at 
them!    Them  two  look  as  much  alike--"    A 

warnmg  touch  on  the  arm  struck  him  silent. 

thp'^^hi  T  'i^  ""^^^^^  °"  Vomers,  reached 
the  table  and  as  his  outstretched  hands  touched 
It  there  bm.t  from  his  lips,  in  a  glad  triumpS^t 

2'.l^  ^'.T  ^^  ^  J°y°^^  «^*^.  his  one 
■bnglish  word:  "Father!" 

Then  his  figure  went  limp;  his  eyes  closed.    He 
tottere  ,  and  wo^d  have  faUen  to  the  floor  ha^ 

IX'J.Z^-^  <^"**  '^  -'  ^'  ^ 

Tenderly  they  bore  him  to  his  cot.  and  though 
the  doctor  worked  over  him  for  an  h^ur,  reSd 
shstangs  and  the  application  of  stimol^^^^ 


304  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

to  awaken  him.  He  sank  back  limp,  but  on  his 
curving  \if»  was  a  smile  of  ineffable  content. 

Through  the  afternoon  and  into  the  night  Jos6 
slept,  a  sleep  apparently  of  utter  exhaustion. 
Hottr  af  ttT  hour  in  the  darkness  of  the  cell  Somers 
sat  and  wiiited,  his  soul  torn  with  hope  and  fear. 

Could  this  be  his  son — his  little  son — the 
prattling  yotmgster  of  four  with  his  mother's 
gray  eyes,  the  boy  whom  he  had  believed  dead, 
killed  fourteen  years  before  in  an  earthquake  in 
Valparaiso,  Chile?  Prom  the  ruins  they  had 
taken  the  mangled  form  of  his  mother,  but  no 
trace  of  the  child  had  ever  been  found.  Por 
days,  for  weeks,  the  broken-hearted  man  had 
haunted  the  spot,  only  in  the  end  to  relinquish 
all  hope. 

It  was  nearing  midnight.  The  boy  on  the 
cot  sthred  restlessly.  Somers  stole  to  the  bed- 
side, and  stared  down  at  the  motionless  figxire. 
The  moonlight  falling  aslant  through  the  barred 
window  fell  on  the  lad's  uncovered  eyes.  He 
sighed,  and  moved  his  head;  hurriedly  the  man 
retreated  to  the  darkness  of  the  comer. 

Burning  with  impatience,  he  could  wait  no 
longer. 

"Boy,"  he  asked  softly,  "what  is  your  name, 
your  real  name?" 

"  Jos6  el  Rufo,  they  call  me,"  came  from  the  cot 
in  sleepy  tones,  "but  I  am  Jos6  Arillo.    My  real 


THE  DREAM  OF  J0SX2  EL  RUFO   305 

n«n»«— I— know— not' •    The  voice  trailed  away 
into  sleep. 

•'Is  Arillo  your  father?"  again  came  the  voice 
from  the  corner. 

The  boy  sat  slowly  upright,  leaning  on  one  arm. 

"No;  Don  Jos6  Antonio  is  not  my  father.  My 
real  father— I  do  not  know  his  name.  But  I 
have  seen  him  often." 

In  the  dreamy  monotonous  tone  of  the  som- 
nambulist, the  boy's  voice  rambled  on,  telling 
the  story  of  his  strange  dreams,  the  memories  of 
his  parents,  the  narrow  street  where  the  laden 
donkeys  went  up  and  down,  the  sudden  night  of 
terror,  his  wanderings  with  the  Indians.  Sitting 
erect  on  the  cot,  Jos€  was  still  dreaming,  dreaming 
that  he  was  telling  the  tale  to  Manuel,  as  he  had 
done  a  thousand  times. 

A  half  sigh,  half  sob  came  from  the  comer ;  then 
a  clicking  of  flint.  Somers  Ughted  the  candle, 
and  waited. 

Jos6,  his  eyes  wide  open,  stared  at  him.  Yes, 
he  was  dreaming  again.  That  was  his  father, 
seated  by  the  candle  light,  but —it  was  strange- 
there  was  no  table,  no  flag  behind  his  head. 

Rising  slowly  to  his  feet,  the  boy  stared  at 
Somers  for  a  moment.  Then  he  crept  stealthily 
toward  the  trembling  man.  Somers  sprang  up, 
rushed  to  him,  threw  his  arms  about  him,  and 
crushed  him  to  his  breast. 


*lr 


I*  A 1     II      ,^R-. 


hi 


ii' 
li 

ii, 
ill 


306    THE  DONS  OF  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

"My  son!    My  son!"  he  sobbed. 

Jos6,  the  hypnotic  look  still  on  his  face,  yielded 
to  the  embrace.  He  was  marveling  at  the  strange- 
ness of  the  vision.  Never  before  had  dream 
been  so  vivid  as  this.  He  placed  his  hand  on  the 
man's  shoulder,  and  drew  back  from  him  a  space. 

"Art  thou — thou — my  father?"  There  was 
a  world  of  doubt  and  awe  in  his  tones.  "What  is 
thy —  what  is  my  name  ?    Who  am  I  ? " 

"As  God  lives,  I  believe  you  to  be  my  son. 
Your  name  is  Joseph  Franklin  Somers." 

"Joseph — Franklin — Somers,"  the  boy  re- 
peated incredulously.  Then  his  gaze  wandered 
around  the  dim-lit  room,  at  the  figure  of  the  man 
before  him,  at  his  own  arms  and  feet.  How  real 
it  all  seemed!  The  troubled,  puzzled  look  came 
again  to  his  face.  Oh,  if  he  could  only  know,  if 
there  were  some  way  to  know  whether  or  not  this 
were  but  another  dream ! 

The  boy's  arm  shot  out.  Snatching  the  candle 
from  the  table,  he  resolutely  applied  the  flame  to 
the  fingers  of  his  other  hand. 

Somers  felt  a  wild  thrill  of  fear.  Had  the  boy 
gone  mad?  He  sprang  forward,  and  wrested  the 
candle  from  imder  the  blackening  fingers. 

But  the  small  red  flame  had  done  its  work. 
Jose's  stinging  finger  ends  had  told  him  that  he 
was  in  truth  awake. 

"Oh!"  he  shouted  boisterously,  "it  is  real!    It 


,11   ! ! 


THE  DREAM  OF  JOSE  EL  RUFO    307 

is  true!  It  is  no  d  nmi  Fati,?r!  My  father! 
I  know  you  are  Jt;a]— real- ,eal!"  He  was 
pounding  Somers  on  ihe  shoulder  in  a  wild  par- 
oxysm of  joy.  "This  time  i  siiaU  not  wake— I 
shall  not  wake!" 

The  candle,  faUen  to  the  floor,  flickered  for  a 
moment,  and  died.  Somers  sat  silent  in  the 
darkness,  Jos6's  face  against  his  cheek,  his  arms 
about  his  son. 

Morning  dawned,  the  morning  Don  Jesus  Pico 
was  to  die.  The  frontiersmen  of  Fremont's 
command  openly  exulted  in  his  coming  fate.  Had 
he  not  broken  his  parole  of  honor,  bringing  war  to 
a  land  that  was  at  peace?  Had  it  not  been  he— 
he  and  his  friends— who  had  caused  this  weary, 
wintry  march,  a  march  of  shivering  nights  and 
toiling,  rain-drenched  days?  Was  he  not  respon- 
sible for  the  bloodshed  at  Dominguez  and  San 
Pascual,— he  and  the  others  whom  Stockton  and 
Kearney  would  doubtless  hang  when  they  fell 
into  their  hands?  It  was  right  and  just  that 
"Tortoi"  Pico  should  die. 

Down  the  corridor  of  the  mission  came  a  veiled 
woman,  a  child  in  her  arms  and  two  others  clinging 
to  her  skirts.  The  guard  at  the  door  of  Colonel 
Fremont's  headquarters,  half  dozing,  allowed  her 
to  enter. 

Fremont,  seated  at  a  table,  pen  in  hand,  looked 


f'l 


r 


308  THE  DONS  OF  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

up  at  the  intrusion.  He  was  a  spare  man,  with 
sharp,  clear-cut  features  and  a  ragged  beard. 
His  eyes — wonderful  eyes  they  were,  dark  and 
brilliant,  strong  and  penetrating — stared  inquir- 
ingly at  the  visitors. 

As  he  stepped  toward  them  the  woman  fell  to 
her  knees  and  threw  her  arms  about  his  mud- 
stained  leggings. 

"Oh,  senor,  do  not  kill  him!  I  beg  of  you,  do 
not  kill  him !  He  did  not  know  he  was  committing 
such  a  crime.  He  was  but  ashamed  to  stay  at 
home  when  the  other  hijos  del  pais  went  to  fight 
for  the  land.     Do  not  kill  him!" 

Fremont's  brow  was  wrinkled  in  perplexity; 
his  splendid  eyes  were  troubled.  The  children 
joined  their  shrill  voices  to  their  mother's  wails. 

"Oh,  senor,"  she  pleaded  "will  you  make  these 
little  ones  fatherless?  Oh,  have  pity,  senor,  have 
pity!" 

But  there  was  no  sign  of  relenting  in  the  colonel's 
face  as  he  lifted  the  weeping  woman  to  her  feet. 

"Seflora,"  he  said  in  an  even  voice,  "  I  can  make 
no  promises,  nor  hold  out  any  false  hopes.  Go 
home  and  remain  there  quietly.  I  will  notify  you 
of  my  decision,  before  anything  is  done." 

As  Captain  Owens,  one  of  Fremont's  staff, 
closed  the  door  behind  them,  the  colonel  drew  his 
hand  across  his  sweat-bedewed  brow. 

'God,  Owens,  this  is  awful.     Sooner  would  I 


t'l 


THE  D.iEAM  OF  JOSE  EL  RUFO    309 

meet  a  thousand  of  them  with  arms  in  their  hands 
tnan  one  weeping  woman." 

Lieutenant  Somers  entered  the  room.  Thev 
both  stared  at  him  in  wonder.  Was  this  the 
somber  man  at  whose  melancholy  mien  they  had 
marveled  smce  first  they  knew  Lim?  On  his 
hps  was  a  happy  smile,  and  in  his  eye  a  sparkle 
as  of  youth  regained. 

Fremont  walked  back  and  forth  across  the  room 
with  his  quick,  nervous  step.  Only  an  hour  ago 
he  had  received  dispatches  from  Stockton  in 
Which  the  commodore  expressed  a  hope  of  the 
capture  of  Don  Jesus  Pico. 

But  the  kindly  heart  of  the  Pathfinder  had 
been  touched  by  the  sight  of  the  weeping  woman 
and  the  clinging  r\Udren.  And  the  dispatch 
bearer  who  had  s.  .  "  entered  their  lines  in  the 
night  Wis  a  son  o.  ^.  trusted  ofiicer.  For  him 
he  had  issued  a  pardon  at  once. 

''Pico's  execution  is  set  for  ten  o'clock,  colonel  " 
said  Owens.  "It  lacks  but  five  minutes  no^. 
Be  lenient,  colonel,  if  it  is  possible,"  he  pleaded 
^  Fremont  walked  to  the  window  and,  his  hands 
m  his  pockets,  stood  motionless  for  a  few  moments 
gazmg  at  his  men  drawn  up  in  readiness  for  the 
execution. 

''Brmg  Pico  to  me.     Then  leave  us  alone,"  he 
ordered. 

The  cousin  of  Don  Andreas  was  a  dark,  sHght 


ilii 


310    THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

man,  with  the  mien  of  a  bom  aristocrat.  Though 
his  face  was  gray  and  haggard,  he  was  of  the  Pico 
stock,  and  there  was  no  sign  of  flinching  in  his 
steadj  gaze  as  he  looked  into  the  eyes  of  the 
Pathfinder. 

The  American  pointed  out  the  window  to  the 
troops  on  parade,  and  asked  in  a  harsh  tone, 

Don  Jesus  Pico,  do  you  know  what  that  means  ? " 
"It  means"— there  was  little  tremor  in  Pico's 
voice— "that  I  am  about  to  die." 

Through  the  open  window  came  the  careless 
laughter  of  the  frontiersmen;  then  the  door 
opened  and  a  voice  said,  "Corporal's  guard  for 
the  prisoner,  colonel;  it  is  ten  o'clock." 

Fremont  was  still  staring  out  the  window. 
Deathlike  was  the  silence  in  the  room,  save  for 
the  nervous  tapping  of  the  Pathfinder's  fingers 
on  the  window  ledge. 

Slowly  he  turned,  his  eyes  agaui  meeting  Pico's 
fairly.    He  seemed  to  be  waiting. 

The  bearded  hps  of  .he  Califomian  trembled 
slightly,  but  he  was  silent.  The  pride  of  the  Picos 
was  his;  he  could  not  beg  for  his  life. 

"Don  Jesus,"  Fremont  said,  whimsically,  "you 
are  a  brave  man;  you" are  ahnost  as  brave  as  you 
are  lucky  in  having  such  a  wife.  Go  thank  her— 
she  has  saved  you." 

First  white,  then  joyous  crimson  went  the 
face  of  Don  Jesus.    He  reeled  slightly,  then  falling 


THE  DREAM  OP  JOSE  EL  RUFO    311 

on  his  knees  he  crossed  his  forefingers  high  above 
ins  head. 

"I  was  to  die."  he  said,  in  a  voice  quivering 
with  emotion.     "I  had  lost  the  life  God  gave  me 
Jou  have  given  me  another.    My  new  life  I 
devote  to  you— by  this  cross  I  swear  it." 


.ii 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

AT  THE   "pASO  DE  BARTOLO" 

AT  the  ford  of  the  San  Gabriel  River  known 
-^^  as  the  Paso  de  Bartolo,  ten  miles  from  Los 
Angeles,  the  Calif  omians  were  awaiting  the  coming 
of  Stockton. 

The  stream,  swollen  full  and  wide  by  recent 
rains,  lay  below  them  about  five  hundred  yards 
away,  both  banks  fringed  by  a  heavy  growth  of 
underbrush.  Beyond  the  river  the  road,  for  the 
possession  of  which  Castilian  and  American  were 
to  battle  that  fateful  8th  of  January,  1847,  sloped 
gently  down  to  the  water's  edge.  On  the  Cali- 
fomian  side  a  bluff  swept  in  a  long  bow-like  curve 
away  from  the  stream,  inclosing  within  its  curving 
arms  a  little  plain.  Reappearing  at  the  water's 
edge,  the  trail  shot  across  the  crescent-shaped 
fiat,  and  climbed  the  hill  at  the  middle  point 
of  the  curve,  exactly  in  the  center  of  the  Cali- 
fomian  position. 

"They  are  coming,  father;  I  can  see  them." 
Manuel  Arillo  rose  excitedly  in  his  stirrups,  and 
pointed  to  a  black  smudge  in  the  distance. 

"Look,  father,  over  there." 

Don  Jos6  nodded  and,  sighing  deeply,  turned 
away  to  speak  with  an  aide  of  Flores  who  had 
cantered  up  with  orders. 

312 


AT  THE  "PASO  DE  BARTOLO"     313 

Steadily,  as  if  on  parade,  the  Americans  ad- 
vanced down  th«  long  slope.  As  Olivas,  the 
couner,  had  reported,  they  were  aU  on  foot, 
marching  in  a  square,  the  cattle  and  the  wagons  in 
the  center,  the  cannon  at  the  comers.  Stockton's 
attempts  to  secure  mounts  for  his  men  had 
proved  unsuccessful.  The  strategy  of  Flores 
had  swept  the  land  ahnost  clear  of  both  horses 
and  cattle. 

Quickly  Flores  placed  his  troops  m  position. 
Directly  across  the  road,  as  it  topped  the  concave 
height,  were  set  Arillo's  four  guns,  to  the  right  the 
squadron  of  Don  Manuel  Gariias,  to  the  left 
Don  Andreas  Pico  with  his  veterans  of  the  San 
Pascual  campaign.  Hugo  Vanuela  and  his  com- 
pany of  Indians  were  ordered  to  cross  the  river 
and  conceal  themselves  in  the  shruboery  at  the 
water's  edge. 

The  slowly  moving  square,  with  its  center  of 
tossing  homed  heads,  halted  a  half-mile  from 
the  stream.  From  the  sides  of  the  square  broke 
out,  in  groups  of  twos  and  threes,  fifty  un- 
uniformed  men.  Hastily  faUing  into  a  skirmish 
hne,  ten  paces  apart,  they  strode  on  toward  the 
nver.  Far  beyond  the  range  of  the  escopetas 
were  they  when  Vanuela  whispered  to  his 
lieutenant.  The  latter  stared  his  Junazement, 
but  after  a  moment's  hesitation  gave  the  order 
to  fire. 


Si 


k.»  *>::. 


Ik 


314  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

The  straggling  line  of  bushes  by  the  water  burst 
into  smoke,  but  not  for  a  moment  did  the  frontiers- 
men hesitate.  Contemptuously  ignoring  the  esco- 
peta  bullets,  plowing  up  the  sod  in  front  of 
them,  they  swung  on  in  a  long,  steady  stride. 
Hurriedly  Vanuela  and  his  skirmishers  vacated 
the  shrubbery  and  retreated  across  the  stream. 

On  to  the  water's  edge  swept  Kit  Carson  and 
his  men,  among  them  Jim  Marshall.  Lost  to 
sight  were  they  for  a  moment  as  they  broke 
through  the  bushes.  Then,  wading  boldly  into 
the  stream,  they  pressed  on,  the  current  rippling 
about  their  chins,  their  rifles  held  high  above  their 
heads. 

Halfway  across  were  they  when  the  crash  of 
the  Califomian  cannon  broke  the  stiUness.  The 
surface  of  the  stream,  torn  with  grapeshot, 
showered  the  struggling  skirmishers  with  blinding 
spray.  But  not  a  man  fell.  Unfalteringly  they 
pressed  on,  dragged  themselves  out  of  the  stream, 
and  took  cover  under  a  wave-bitten  bank  close 
to  the  water's  edge. 

"Por  Dios,  but  that  was  magnificent,"  mur- 
mured Don  Augustin,  as  he  dipped  into  his  snuff- 
box. "Ah,"  he  sighed,  "that  their  commander 
were  as  generous  as  his  men  are  brave!" 

From  the  bank  below,  the  rifles  of  the  frontiers- 
men were  popping  iiTegularly,  but  without  effect. 
Knowing  well  their  deadly  marksmanship,  Flores 


AT  THE  "PASO  DE  BARTOLO"    315 

had  not  been  taken  unawares.  Even  before  the 
hne  had  scrambled  out  of  the  water,  the  CaU- 
fornian  cannon  had  been  withdrawn  a  few  yards, 
while  the  mounted  squadrons  retreated  from  the 
edge  of  the  bluff,  till  even  the  heads  of  the  horses 
were  hidden  by  the  curve  of  the  hill. 

From  beyond  the  river  came  a  reverberating 
roar.  Two  of  Stockton's  cannon  at  the  edge  of 
the  stream  were  thundering  out  a  response  to 
Anllos  fire.  A  few  yards  up  the  slope  the 
square  waited.  The  skirmishers,  lying  on  the 
sandy  beach  beneath  the  bank,  could  hear  above 
them  the  shrill  screech  of  the  missiles  as  the  CaU- 
fomian  guns  boomed  back  de^antly. 

Marshall  grinned  as  he  noted  the  Califomian 
grapeshot  falling  into  the  water  with  a  plumpine 
soimd.  * 

"Notkickenoughtothemcannon.  Notenough 
powder,"  he  commented  to  Kit  Carson,  lying  on 
the  sand  beside  him.  "Jehosophat.  but  Arillo  is 
doing  poor  shooting.  He  did  better  than  that 
at  Dominguez." 

Confusion  and  hesitation  were  apparent  among 
the  Americans  on  the  far  bank.  Their  cannonade 
had  ceased,  though  the  enemy's  guns  were  still 
boommg.  General  Kearney,  his  face  grave  with 
apprehension,  strode  over  to  Stockton. 

"Theriverbedisfull  of  quicksand,  commodore" 
he  announced.  ' 


[««t> 


316    THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

"Damn  the  quicksand  I  Go  ahead!  Carson's 
men  did  it,"  Stockton  snapped  back. 

In  a  moment  the  water  was  full  of  struggling 
men,  tugging  at  the  cannon  ropes,  stopping 
every  now  and  then  to  wrest  their  feet  from  the 
clutching  sands  or  to  assist  a  sinking  comrade. 

Over  them  roared  the  artillery  duel.  Arillo 
was  getting  the  range.  Many  of  his  shots  were 
dropping  among  the  confused  mass  of  toiling, 
urtif-submerged  Americans;  but  they  seemed 
strangely  ineffectual.  Here  and  there  a  sailor, 
bruised  or  stunned  by  the  grapeshot,  was  carried 
senseless  to  the  b'*>k  or  laid  on  a  oaggage  cart. 
The  two  othei  .'rierican  guns,  still  roaring 
from  the  bank,  were  firing  as  many  shots  as 
Arillo's  four. 

Near  to  Arillo's  battery  Hugo  Vanuela,  leaning 
en  his  saddle,  was  watching  curiously  the  effect 
of  the  Califomian  fire.  The  near  half  of  the 
stream,  whipped  into  a  cloud  of  foam  at  every 
discharge,  told  that  most  of  the  shots  were  falling 
short.  Hugo  grinned  complacently.  The  powder 
was  fulfilling  all  his  expectations  for  inefficiency. 
Well,  indeed,  had  he  done  his  work  in  the  few 
short  moments  after  his  bloody  knife  had  sent 
Eugene  MacNamara  to  meet  his  God.  The 
Americans,  he  meditated,  could  refuse  him  nothing 
when,  in  the  days  to  come,  they  learned  the  truth. 
With  an  earth-shaking  roar,  the  six  American 


AT  THE  "PASO  DE  ByiRTOLO"     3,7 
guns  now  safely  across  the  river,  thundered  out 

Tk'S'^u'^^-    Th«  ^°«^  o^  the  gun  crew  on 
the  blufl  above  tumbled  over  in  a  bleeding  heap. 

s^h'.  /.-'^^  Califomians   cut   the   riata;  and. 
substituting  other  horses,  whisked  their  cannon 

ovnd  ^^  ^^^  ^^  ""^"^  ^^  ^^^  ^  ^® 

The  cattle,  bellowing  in  terror  and  urged  on  by 
the  shouting  Americans,  were  slowly  drawing  out 
of  the  water.  Still  stuck  in  the  middle  of  the  river 
were  the  baggage  wagons,  around  them  a  group 
of  shouting,  excited  sailors. 

Arillo's  cannon,  reloaded,  were  again  shot  for- 
ward to  the  edge  of  the  incline.  At  the  brink  of 
the  stream  Stockton  himself,  just  emerging  from 
the  water,  glanced  up  and  caught  sight  of  them. 

Stand  aside,"  he  ordered  the  marine.  Bending 
ov--  the  piece,  the  commodore  sighted  it  and 
^Pi....a  the  linstock.     Into  a  thousand  splinters 

the  bluff ;  the  gun  itself  reared  wildly  on  end.  and 
then  tumbled  helplessly  to  the  ground. 

By  the  water's  edge  all  was  confusion  and 
disarray.  To  hold  the  wild  range  cattle  in  a 
compact  mass  and  to  reform  the  square  about 
them  was  no  easy  task.  Amidst  the  roars  of  the 
frenzied  beasts,  the  ineffectual  popping  of  the  rifles, 
the  shouts  of  the  excited  saUors.  moved  Lieuten- 
ant John  Carroll.    With  Captain  GiUie,  he  was 

SI 


3i8  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 


busily  engaged  in  reducing  the  confused  mass  to 
a  semblance  of  order.  Slowly  the  cattle  were 
being  urged  out  on  the  level  flat;  little  by  little 
the  sailors  were  forming  in  line  about  them. 

The  lieutenant  glanced  up  at  the  top  of  the 
bluff.  Above  the  curve  of  the  hill  suddenly 
appeared  a  row  of  horses'  heads. 

"Captain,"  he  shouted  to  Gillie,  his  voice 
rising  above  the  tumult,  "they  are  going  to 
charge!" 

Down  the  slope  raced  the  whole  of  Pico's 
squadron.  They  paused  for  a  moment  well  out 
of  rifle  range,  their  lances  leveled.  Then  with 
a  wild  yell  they  dashed  on  the  half-formed  side 
of  the  square. 

"Hold  your  fire,  men, —  keep  cool!  Line  up! 
Line  up!"  shouted  Gillie,  as  men  came  running 
from  all  parts  of  the  field  to  fill  the  gaps  in  the 
'  anks. 

On  came  the  indomitable  Pico  at  a  furious 
gallop,  his  front  a  solid  mass  of  tossing  manes  and 
bristling  lance  points. 

"Fire!"  shouted  Gillie. 

But  the  volley  from  the  broken  line  was  scatter- 
ing and  tmcertain. 

Through  the  smoke  in  front  of  Carroll  broke  a 
dozen  rearing  horses,  full  on  the  bayonets  of  the 
sailors.  Thnisting  upward,  he  drove  his  sword 
into  the  neck  of  a  horse  whose  bent  forelegs  hung 


AT  THE  "PASO  DE  BARTOLO"     319 

menacingly  above  him,  and  sprang  aside  to  escape 
being  crushed  by  the  falling  animal.  On  either 
side  of  him  a  dozen  Califomians,  their  bodies 
swung  low  behind  their  horses,  were  jabbing 
viciously  at  the  Americans.  Lance  shaft  was 
clashing  on  bayonet  and  musket  barrel.  Another 
dying  horse,  pierced  by  a  dozen  bayonets,  pitched 
sidewise  full  into  the  ranks  of  the  sailors.  Through 
the  shrouding  smoke  the  lieutenant  saw  the  line 
sway,  waver  for  a  moment,  and  then  spring  back 
to  place. 

Suddenly  the  bugle  blared  from  the  heights 
above.  The  dim-seen  forms  of  mounted  men  in 
front  of  them  melted  away.  As  the  smoke  cleared, 
the  Califomians,  in  straggling  groups,  could  be 
seen  retreating  up  the  bluff.    The  charge  had  failed. 

Flores  had  ordered  the  bugle  to  sound  the 
retreat.  Looking  down  through  the  clinging 
smoke,  he  knew  that  the  attack  was  a  failure 
even  before  those  engaged  were  aware  of  it.  No 
more  than  fifty  of  Pico's  horsemen  had  reached 
the  American  line.  Many  were  yet  yards  away, 
still  struggling  madly  with  their  excited  mounts,' 
crazed  by  the  roar  of  the  rifle  fire.  Others,  whose 
horses  had  fallen  in  the  deadly  volley  from  the 
ranks,  were  hurriedly  dragging  their  saddles  from 
their  slaughtered  mounts.  Many  wounded  men 
were  clingmg  weakly  to  the  stirrups  of  their 
comrades. 


*   II 


um\ 


320  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

The  Americans  were  cheering  deliriously,  the 
hoarse,  throaty  shout  of  the  Anglo-Saxon.  They 
had  met  a  Califomian  charge  led  by  the  dashing 
Pico  himself,  and  repelled  it. 

Gathering  his  officers  about  him,  Commandant 
Flores  gave  orders  for  a  general  assault — a  final 
efifort  that  would  decide  the  day. 

"Don  Manuel,  you  take  them  on  the  left; 
Don  Andreas,  on  the  right,  as  before;  Captain 
Vanuela,  you  will  charge  with  your  company 
directly  down  the  road." 

There  was  no  confusion  now  among  the  Amer- 
icans. The  steel-tipped  square  was  advancing 
slowly,  step  by  step,  across  the  little  flat,  along 
the  road  toward  the  very  center  of  the  Califomian 
position.  Every  man  was  in  place,  every  piece 
primed  and  loaded. 

Like  two  wide,  encircling  arms,  the  squadrons 
of  Garfias  and  Pico  crept  slowly  down  the  slopes 
on  the  right  and  left.  As  they  reached  the  level 
groimd  their  pace  increased  to  a  trot.  Vanuela 
whispered  to  his  lieutenant,  who  went  quietly  to 
the  rear  of  the  company.  Francisco  Cota,  the 
Mexican  flag  over  his  shoitlder,  trotted  up  and 
took  his  place  by  Vanuela's  side  at  the  head  of 
the  colmnn. 

The  square  had  halted.  All  of  the  six  guns 
had  been  whirled  about,  and  their  gaping  mtizzles 
were  pointed  full  on  Vanuela's  company.    The 


AT  THE  "PASO  DE  BARTOLO"     321 

gunners,  linstock  in  hand,  stood  awaiting  tLd  word 
of  command. 

With  reckless  bravery,  Cota  dashed  down  the 
slope,  waving  the  flag  above  his  head.  "Come 
on,  muchachos!"  he  shouted. 

Suddenly  he  reined  his  horse.  His  ear  missed 
the  sound  of  hoofbeats  behind  him.  Turning  his 
head,  he  was  amazed  to  find  that  he  was  alone, 
that  Vanuela's  company  had  halted  halfway 
down  the  slope.  For  a  moment  he  hesitated, 
then  trotted  back  up  the  trail,  indignant  surprise 
showing  in  his  face  as  he  stared  inquiringly  at 
Hugo. 

Below,  on  the  flat,  the  commands  of  Pico  and 
Garfias  had  halted  ir  their  mad  career.  The 
officers,  catching  sight  of  the  retreating  colors, 
hesitated;  but  a  few  horsemen  dashed  on.  Others 
held  back,  shouting  warnings.  Their  formation 
was  lost,  the  fronts  of  both  lines  thrown  into 
confusion. 

At  that  moment  the  leveled  rifles  on  both  sides 
of  the  square  again  volleyed  smoke  and  flame. 
But  the  range  was  far,  the  marksmanship  of  the 
sailors  bad.  Puzzled  and  disheartened  at  the 
apparent  change  iii  their  commander's  plans, 
the  two  squadrons  of  cavalry  scrambled  back  to 
the  top  of  the  bluflf. 

"Why  didst  thou  turn  back,  Chito?"  inquired 
Plores. 


im 


w 


j .; 

i  1 


322    THE  DONS  OF  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 


:  K 


"I  but  ttimed  to  see  why  the  company  was  not 
advancing,"  Cota  replied  with  proud  dignity. 
Again  he  stared  at  Vanuela  meaningly. 

"Do  not  misunderstand,  Chito,"  said  Flores. 
"No  one  doubts  thy  courage.  Why  did  you  not 
advance,  Sefior  Vanuela?"  he  demanded  of  Hugo. 

Vanuela  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"For  fifty  men,"  he  responded  coolly,  "to 
charge  with  lances  a  square  where  six  loaded 
cannon  awaited  them  would  not  be  war;  it  would 
be  murder  or  suicide,  which  you  will.  Yet  would 
I  have  charged  the  square  as  soon  as  the  cannon 
were  fired,  and  Pico  and  Garfias  had  struck  the 
line.  Then  in  the  confusion  my  men  would 
have  been  of  assistance.  That  the  sqimdrons 
did  not  charge  is  not  my  fault." 

No  time  was  there  for  further  recrimination  or 
explanation.  The  battle  had  been  lost  almost  by 
default.  The  Califomians  had  failed  to  take 
advantage  of  the  crucial  moment.  Already  the 
square  was  moving  in  its  deliberate  way  up  the 
slope  of  the  bluflf. 

Hurriedly  the  Califomians  withdrew  their  gims 
and  trailed  across  the  plain  to  the  foot  of  the 
hills,  where  they  made  camp  in  full  sight  of  the 
enemy.  But  two  Califomians  and  one  American 
had  given  their  lives  in  the  day's  engagement, 
while  eight  wounded  sailors  lay  groaning  on 
Stockton's  baggage  wagons. 


AT  THE  "PASO  DE  BARTOLO"     323 

Slowly  the  sun  sank  in  a  blaze  of  molten  glory. 
From  Stockton's  camp  on  the  edge  of  the  bluff, 
above  the  river,  came  a  burst  of  throbbing  music. 
The  military  band  was  playing  the  "Star-Spangled 
Banner." 

With  strangely  mingled  emotions  the  Cali- 
fomians,  ever  lovers  of  melody,  listened  to  the 
thrilling  measures  floating  to  them  through  the 
deepening  dusk.  Though  the  triumphant  strains 
proclaimed  their  own  disheartening  defeat,  jveiy 
horseman,  sitting  attentive  and  motionless  in  his 
saddle,  was  gravely  appreciative. 

"Por  Dios,  but  that  is  beautiful— beautiful," 
murmiu^  Servolo  Palera.  "It  is  also  a  song; 
I  have  heard  Gillie's  men  sing  it  in  the  pueblo 
last  siunmer.  Knowest  thou  its  title,  Don 
Augustin?" 

"Yes,"  responded  Alvaro  with  a  little  sigh. 
'  'Juan  Carroll  has  told  me  of  it.  It  is  the  war  song 
of  the  Americans.  It  is  called,"  he  hesitated  as 
if  seeking  for  the  proper  words,  "it  is  called,  'the 
flag  with  the  bright  stars  scattered  over  it.'" 

Servolo  was  silent  for  a  moment.  In  his 
somber  eyes  was  a  strange,  tmearthly  light,  as 
of  one  looking  down  a  long  vista  of  years. 

"Dios  de  mi  alma,"  he  sighed,  "perhaps  it 
may  be  in  the  distant  days  to  come  that  our 
children's  children,  forgetful  of  us,  may  sing  it  as 
their  very  own." 


324    THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

The  music  ended.  The  American  bugle  blew 
"taps."  Over  the  wide,  rolling  plain,  the  river 
gorge,  the  low-ljring  hills,  darkness  lowered. 
Palera,  riding  on  the  picket  line  between  the  two 
forces,  noted  the  American  camp  fires  breaking 
out  one  by  one  on  the  edge  of  the  river  bluflf. 
From  the  heights  a  mile  away  the  quivering  points 
of  flame  that  marked  the  Califomian  camp 
twinkled  back  in  cheery  response. 

Servolo  was  alone  in  the  shrouding  HarVtifiji^s  of 
the  plain.  Seated  in  his  saddle,  he  reverently 
bare(  ids  head,  and  gaied  up  at  the  star-lit  infinity. 

"Mtjy,  Mother  of  Sorrows,"  he  prayed,  **ask 
thy  Son  to  take  me  to  Himself,  if  I  be  worthy.  I 
care  not  to  live — my  country  conquered,  my 
heart  dead  within,  my  friend  Ignacio  gone  before. 
Oh,  Father,  if  it  be  Thy  will,  let  me  go  to  him  and 
to  Thee.  My  soul  is  shriven.  I  am  ready  to 
die." 


CHAPTER  XXX 

THB  LAST  STAND  OP  THE  CABALLERO 

'pHROUGH  the  morning  mist  rippled  the 
•*■  reveiUe  from  Stockton's  bugles.  The  sailors 
and  frontiersmen,  chilled  and  grumbling,  crept 
from  their  dew-soaked  blankets  and  hastily 
snatched  u  scanty  meal. 

Before  the  sun  had  lifted  above  the  eastern 
hills,  the  square  was  again  moving  steadily  on 
toward  Los  Angeles.  Slow  and  weary  was  the 
progress  of  the  httle  army,  their  pace  set  by  the 
lean  and  hungry  cattle,  but  little  refreshed  by 
their  night's  foraging.  Around  the  command, 
as  it  crept  on  at  a  snail's  pace  over  the  level, 
treeless  plain,  hovered  groups  of  mounted  Cali- 
fomians,  well  out  of  rifle  range.  The  main  body 
of  the  enemy  was  nowhere  in  sight. 

As  the  sun  climbed  higher,  its  cheering  rays 
drying  the  clothing  and  warming  the  chilled 
bodies  of  the  men,  their  good  humor  returned  and 
they  begmled  the  tedium  of  the  march  with  jest 
and  laughter.  They  were  in  high  spirits.  Yester- 
day they  had  beaten  the  enemy,  and  taken  full 
revenge  for  San  Pascual.  To-night  the  rebellious 
pueblo  of  Our  Lady,  Queen  of  the  Angels  would  be 
theirs. 

The  afternoon  was  well  advanced  before  the 

325 


!l. 


I 

i 


326  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

white  walls  of  the  town,  set  low  in  the  green 
stretch  of  river  bottom,  lifted  into  view.  The 
sailors  in  the  square,  three  deep  around  the 
cattle  and  the  wagons,  were  gazing  curiously  at 
the  end  of  their  long  march  when  Jim  Marshall, 
who  had  been  marchmg  with  the  skirmishers  some 
distance  ahead  of  the  command,  hurried  back. 

"The  enemy  is  in  sight,  sir,"  he  announced  to 
Stockton,  "over  there  to  the  right  in  a  hollow." 

"Give  orders  to  load  with  ball  and  three 
buckshot,"  the  commodore  commanded.  For  a 
few  moments  the  square  halted  until  muskets 
and  rifles  were  charged 

Lieutenant  Carroll,  on  the  right  of  the  column, 
turned  his  glass  toward  the  sycamores  in  the 
hollow.  He  could  see  the  entire  Califomian  force 
ranged  in  a  semicircle,  facing  a  mounted  officer, 
who,  sombrero  in  hand,  was  addressing  them 
vigorously.  Softened  by  distance,  the  speaker's 
voice  came  to  the  Americans  as  a  low  murmur. 

"That's  Plores,  I  suppose,"  remarked  Stockton, 
as  he  handed  the  glass  to  GiUie.  "He  is  trying 
to  stir  them  up  to  make  another  stand  after 
their  drubbing  yesterday  at  the  river.  We  will 
march  right  on.  We  are  not  going  to  chase  him, 
much  as  he  would  like  it.  We  are  going  right 
on  to  the  pueblo." 

"No,"  responded  Gillie,  the  glass  still  at  his 
eye,  "that  is  not  Plores;  it  is  some  one  else." 


LAST  STAND  OP  THE  CABALLERO  327 

The  captain  was  right.  The  orator  who,  with 
graceful  gestures  and  impassioned  words,  was 
speaking  to  the  listening  Califomians  was  Servolo 
Palera.  To  the  disheartened  men  he  was  making 
an  appeal  for  a  final  effort. 
^  "Men,  brothers,  Califomians,"  he  was  saying, 
"yesterday  for  two  long  hours  you  fought  the 
enemy,  believing  them  to  be  soldiers.  To-day 
we  know  them  to  be  but  sailors. 

"Yesterday,  you  with  your  few  guns  and 
miserable  powder  held  them  in  check  at  the  river 
for  two  hours.  To-day  we  will  face  them  on  the 
level  mesa,  where,  in  one  mighty  charge,  we  can 
break  their  lines  and  have  them  at  the  mercy  of 
our  lances.  Four  times  already  have  you  met 
them ;  three  times  have  you  defeated  them.  How 
can  you  hesitate? 

"Men  of  Spanish  blood,  remember  the  deeds 
of  your  fathers.  Make  not  their  spirits,  who  are 
even  now  looking  down  upon  us  from  their  home 
above,  ashamed  of  their  sons. 

"Think,  brothers,  of  the  days  to  come.  Shall 
the  tale  be  told  that  we,  four  hundred  strong, 
waited  idly  here  while  the  Americans,  no  greater 
in  numbers,  without  horses,  marched  unharmed 
and  imhindered  into  our  beloved  pueblo? 

"We  shall  win.  God  is  with  us.  Let  us  crush 
them,  and  capture  Commodore  Stockton.  Never 
shall  the  tale  be  told  to  our  children's  children 


3a8  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

that  we,  their  fathers,  failed—failed  them  at  the 
last.  Por  the  sake  of  the  weeping  women  yonder 
in  the  pueblo,  for  this  land  your  fathers  won  by  the 
sword,  for  the  soil  that  holds  their  sacred  bonos, 
for  your  tongue,  for  your  faith, — in  God's  name, 
strike  but  one  more  blow.  Whether  life  or 
death,  victory  or  defeat  await  us  on  yonder 
plain,  let  us  do  our  duty  like  men. 

"Sing,  friends,  sing!"  He  threw  up  his  arms, 
wide  apart,  and  his  rich  tenor  voice  broke  forth : 

"Our  pulses  thnll  at  the  wondrous  tale 
Of  their  deeds  in  the  days  of  old. 
Oh!  can  it  be  our  cheeks  grow  pale. 
Our  hearts  grow  weak  and  cold? 

"  Shall  strangers  rule  our  fathers'  land, 
In  sorrow,  grief,  and  pain? 
Oh !  face  once  more  their  robber  band, 
Ye  Sons  of  Ancient  Spain." 

Every  sombrero  was  raised  wildly  aloft;  every 
lance  shaft  waved  frantically;  from  every  Cali- 
fomian  throat  came  a  yell  of  defiance.  Moved 
by  the  pathetic  wistfulness  in  his  somber,  youthful 
face,  thrilled  by  his  impassioned  words,  touched  to 
the  heart  by  his  appeal  to  their  pride  of  race,  their 
momentary  depression  vanished  and  they  threw 
their  voices  full  pitched  into  the  chorus. 

"There's  that  same  old  song,"  commented 
Gillie  as  the  distant  rhythm  of  the  singing  drifted 
across  the  plain.  "Some  kind  of  hymn,  I  sup- 
pose." 


LAST  STAND  OP  THE  CABALLERO    329 

Lieutenant  Carroll,  trudging  by  his  side,  made 
no  answer.  His  face  was  drawn  and  tired,  his 
heart  anxious;  he  dreaded  the  events  of  the 
morrow.  Fondly  had  he  hoped  that  yesterday's 
skirmish  at  the  river  had  marked  the  end  of 
hostilities,  but  again  he  was  to  face  in  a  death 
struggle  the  men  whose  nobility  of  soul  had 
compelled  his  admiration. 

But  the  soldier  in  him  brought  him  up  with  a 
sharp  turn.  He  must  remember  that  the  Cali- 
fomians  were  his  enemies,  the  enemies  of  his 
country.  Arillo  his  enemy,  Servolo  his  enemy, 
Alvaro  his  enemy?    He  sighed  wearily. 

Marshall,  at  his  elbow,  looked  at  his  friend 
sjrmpathetically. 

"Tired,  lieutenant?" 

*'No,  Jim,  just  thinking." 

"Now,  lieutenant,"  whispered  Marshall,  "jest 
you  quit  worryin*.  The  commodore  ain't  goin* 
to  do  no  hangin*  business.  If  he  tries  it.  General 
Kearney  won't  let  him.  Them  two  has  been 
fightin'  ever  since  we  left  San  Diego.  When 
generals  fight,  plain  folks  get  their  dues." 

"Jim.  Jim,"  warned  Carroll,  "you  mustn't 
talk  about  that." 

"All  right,  lieutenant,  all  right.  Jehosophat," 
he  went  on  in  a  still  lower  tone,  "but  this  is  the 
finest  country!  Do  you  know,  it  seems  to  me 
that  the  sunny,  summer  morning  that  the  Lord 


330  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

made  California  he  didn't  do  anjrthing  else  that 
day  but  jest  lie  around  feeling  good  over  it?  As 
soon  as  ever  I  Idn  git  out  of  the  army  I  am  goirt' 
to  buy  me  that  rancho  and  that  white  hoss  I  was 
tellin*  you  about.  I  got  the  coin  right  over  in 
the  pueblo,  all  right." 

In  spite  of  his  somber  thoughts,  Carroll  was 
amused.  Marshall  was  generally  a  truthful  man, 
save  when  he  touched  upon  the  one  matter  of  his 
wealth;  then  he  overflowed  with  braggadocio. 
Jim  had  never  shown  any  great  wealth  of  coin. 

"When  we  onct  gets  settled  down  in  the 
pueblo,"  he  continued,  "I  got  the  dingdest  piece 
of  news,  something  no  one  but  Jim  Marshall 
knows,  to  tell  you.  But  when  the  time  comes 
I  '11  send  it  richochetting  around  the  world.  But 
no  one  but  you  and  me's  goin*  to  know  it  till  it 
is  a  dead  sure  thing  that  this  country  belongs  to 
Uncle  Sam,  then — " 

His  voice  was  drowned  in  the  roar  of  the 
Califomian  cannon  from  the  brink  of  the  de- 
pression. 

Their  aim  was  good.  A  mule  attachtjd  to  one 
of  the  field  pieces  at  the  forward  comer  of  the 
square,  shot  throt  ,h  the  body,  was  struggling 
frantically,  throwing  the  other  animals  into  the 
wildest  confusion.  Another  ball  of  white  in  the 
hollow,  and  a  sailor  near  Marshall,  badly  woimded, 
pitched  sidewise  xmder  the  crowding  feet  of  the 


LAST  STAND  OP  THE  CABALLERO    331 

cattln.  For  a  few  moments  the  square  halted 
while  the  mule  was  exchanged  and  the  dying 
sailor  placed  on  one  of  the  carts.  Then  the 
stubborn,  plodding  march  was  resumed.  The 
lesson  of  San  Pascual  had  not  been  lost  on  Com- 
modore Stockton;  nothing  would  tempt  him  to 
abandon  his  square  formation  or  falter  in  his 
march  on  the  pueblo. 

Out  of  the  hollow  whirled  two  of  the  enemy's 
cannon,  bounding  along  at  the  ends  of  the  riatas. 
They  took  up  a  position  directly  across  the 
American  line  of  march. 

"That's  Don  Jos6  Antonio—there  in  front," 
said  Marshall,  "there  on  the  big  bay  horse." 

The  guns  left  in  the  hollow  roared  again,  but 
the  shot  went  screeching  harmlessly  over  the  heads 
of  the  Americans.  Then  Arillo's  guns  in  front 
joined  in  the  tumult.  One  of  the  round  shot, 
skipping  along  the  ground,  rebounded  into  the 
square,  knocking  down  several  men.  They  stag- 
gered to  their  feet,  bruised  and  breathless,  and 
dazed  with  astonishment  to  find  themselves  still 
alive. 

"Cheer  up,  Hans,"  remarked  Marshall,  as  he 
helped  one  of  them  into  a  cart,  "you  have  no  hurt 
but  a  few  broken  ribs.  It  takes  more  than  a 
little  thing  like  a  cannon  ball  to  kill  a  Dutchman. 
You  have  to  prove  it  to  a  Dutchman  he  is  dead 
before  he  will  die." 


m 


1 1 

,iii 


r 


33a  THE  DONS  OF  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

Stubbornly  the  square  plodded  on,  the  men 
frcttmg  and  fuming.  Were  they  to  creep  along 
all  day,  a  target  for  the  cannon  of  the  enemy? 
Under  the  strain  of  the  artillery  fire,  they  were 
becoming  nervous  and  apprehensive 

The  guns  in  the  hollow,    one  of  them  the 
howitzer  captured  from  Ktiarrey  at  San  Pascual, 
did  better  the  next  sho:;.    A  wild  commotion' 
among  the  cattle,  and  a  shriek  of  agony  from  the 
far  side  of  the  square,  told  that  the  enemy  again 
had  the  r  nge. 
"Halt!"  the  command  ran  around  the  square. 
0  ickly   the    forward    American    guns    were 
♦jiaiunbcred,  turned  on  the  depression,  and  roared 
forth  their  response,  the  thunder  of  their  reports 
mingling  with  the  sharper  boom  of  Arillo's  cannon 
in  front.    When  the  smoke  had  cleared  away,  the 
guns  at  the  brink  of  the  hollow  and  their  defenders 
had  disappeared. 

The  cannon  returned  to  their  place  at  the 
forward  comers  of  the  square,  and  the  Americans 
resumed  their  slow  march.  Out  of  the  hoUow 
rode  the  entire  body  of  the  Califomians.  Describ- 
ing a  wide  curve  well  out  of  range  of  the  American 
rifles,  they  took  up  a  position  in  front  of  Arillo's 
battery,  directly  across  the  road  leading  to  the 
pueblo.  There  was  no  mistaking  the  meaning  of 
the  maneuver;  the  artillery  duel  was  to  become 
a  pitched  battle. 


LAST  STAND  OP  Tiro  CABALLERO    333 

The  Americans  broke  into  a  cheer,  the  heavy 
hurrah  of  the  sailors  mingling  with  the  sharp 
Indian-like  yeUs  of  the  frontiersmen.  Gleefully 
they  looked  to  the  priming  of  their  pieces.  The 
enemy  was  going  to  fight— a  real  "stand  uo" 
fight.  ^ 

Along  tJie  front  of  the  Califomian  line  officers 
were  galloping,  shoutmg  sharp  commands  as  they 
placed  their  men  in  position.  A  short  distance 
behind  them,  a  body  of  vaquex-os  led  several  hun- 
dred extra  horses. 

Never  again  will  the  blue  California  sky  look 
down  upon  such  a  scene  as  that  of  the  afternoon 
of  that  ever-to-be-remembered  day  of  January 
9, 1847.  It  was  a  spectacle,  magnificent,  majestic, 
thrilling,  of  its  kind  the  last  on  the  west  coast  of 
North  America. 

olowly,  at  a  walk,  the  line  of  horsemen  advanced, 
above  them  a  forest  of  slender  lance  shafts,  tipped 
with  gaudy  pennons.  Here  and  there  fluttere.^l 
flags  of  gorgeous  hues— flags  woven  by  the 
fingers  of  the  devoted  women  of  the  pueblo. 
Sharply  glittered  the  rays  of  the  declining  sun  on 
the  naked  sword  blades  of  the  officers,  the  steel  of 
the  lance  points,  the  silver  mountings  of  saddle, 
bit,  and  bridle. 

Brilliant  with  the  gay  colors  of  the  gaudy 
scrapes,  undulating  with  the  tossing  manes  of  the 
mettlesome  horses,  the  whole  line  palpitated  with 
S3 


tr 


-S.I 


Iv* 


'c^.i:!-.-?- 


i 


334  THE  DONS  OF  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

life  and  motion.  They  werv?  singing  wild  and 
shrill  the  war  song  of  Palera,  their  voices  mingling 
with  the  tinkle  of  the  many  guitars,  and  the 
stirring  strains  of  the  bugles. 

More  than  one  brave  heart  beneath  the  proudly 
fluttering  pennons  knew  full  well  the  hopelessness 
of  their  cause,  knew  that  not  only  defeat  but 
perchance  the  disgraceful  death  of  a  felon  awaited 
them  at  the  hands  of  their  foes.  But  there  was 
no  flinching  and  no  faltering. 

The  spirit  of  the  ancient  Roman,  the  spirit  of 
the  conquering  Goth,  the  spirit  that  after  seven 
hundred  years  of  struggle  had  driven  the  Moor 
back  to  his  African  hills,  the  spirit  of  the  con- 
quistadores  of  Cort^z  was  theirs.  The  gods  of  war 
might  have  abandoned  them,  but  in  this,  the 
last  stand  of  the  caballero,  naught  would  there  be 
lacking  of  the  proud  panoply  of  martial  array. 
If  fate  had  so  willed  that  they  must  go  down  to 
defeat,  they  would  go  with  flags  proudly  afloat, 
with  a  song  and  a  smile  on  their  lips,  with  the 
unbending  dignity  of  their  race. 

"Jehosophat,"  remarked  Marshall,  as  the 
Americans  waited  in  silence,  "if  that  doesn't 
remind  me  of  a  circus  parade  back  in  old  New 
Jersey.'* 

Flores,  riding  in  front  of  the  Califomians, 
threw  up  his  hand.  The  advancing  line  broke 
in  the  center,  each  half  describing  a  wide  curve  to 


LAST  STAND  OF  THE  CABALLERO    335 

the  right  and  left.  As  they  swung  around,  their 
pace  quickened  to  a  trot.  The  singing  ceased, 
and  with  a  piercing,  simultaneous  yell  down 
came  the  lances,  and  the  two  divisions  charged, 
full  tilt,  both  sides  of  the  square. 

Against  the  charging  squadrons  burst  the 
thundering  crash  of  musketry.  Both  sides  of  the 
square  bristled  with  living  streaks  of  fire.  The 
sky,  the  plain,  the  distant  hills,  the  oncoming 
wave  of  horsemen  were  blotted  out  by  the  billow- 
ing smoke. 

On  the  Califomian  side  on.  man  drew  out  of 
the  smoke  cloud  and  with  a  grim  smile  listened 
to  the  roar  of  battle.  He.  and  he  alone,  knew  why, 
on  that  broad  mesa  by  the  Pueblo  of  the  Angels,' 
a  thousand  men,  with  the  lust  of  killing  hot  in 
their  hearts,  were  seeking  one  another's  lives.  It 
was  the  work  of  his  cunning  brain.  He,  and  he 
alone,  was  the  war  maker. 

Slowly  the  smoke  cleared.  The  entire  front  of 
the  Califomian  line  was  in  confusion,  a  mass  of 
struggling,  wounded  horses  whose  agonizing 
screams  echoed  over  the  plain.  CarroU,  peering 
through  the  hngering  smoke,  noted  that  not  a 
smgle  one  of  the  enemy  lay  on  the  ground,  though 
scores  of  wounded  men  were  clinging  weakly  to 
the  saddles  of  their  more  fortunate  comrades. 

"Say,   lieutenant,"   commented   Marshall,   as 
he  drove  home  the  ramrod  in  his  rifle,  "did  ye 


i^  4 


4 


336  THE  DONS  OF  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 


i  i 

i  i. 


I  ; 


notice  that?  Jest  before  the  order  came  to  fire, 
every  one  of  them  fellahs,  when  they  saw  our 
guns  go  up,  squeezed  down  flat  behind  their 
bosses'  necks.  Jehosophat,  but  this  is  the  ding- 
dest  battle, —  nuthin'  to  shoot  at  but  bosses." 

The  Califomians  were  retreating,  but  not  in 
haste.  Slowly,  beyond  rifle  range,  they  were 
reforming  their  fronts.  But  one  lone  horseman 
lingered  near  the  American  line,  walking  his 
horse  slowly  away,  two  wounded  men  clinging  to 
his  stirrups.  ' 

' '  Shaaie !  Shame ! "  shouted  Marshall.  ' '  That's 
what  I  call  a  dirty  trick."  His  remarks  were 
addressed  to  one  of  the  sailors,  who  had  covered 
with  his  musket  the  retreating  figure  of  Don  Jos6 
Antonio  Arillo.  Others  of  the  frontiersmen  echoed 
Marshall's  protest,  and  the  sailor,  abashed,  low- 
ered his  weapon. 

The  waiting  vaqueros  had  galloped  up  with  the 
extra  motmts;  the  Califomians  of  both  wings  had 
again  formed  in  two  squadrons.  Again  their 
bugles  sounded  the  charge. 

Back  they  came  with  lances  lowered,  the  plain 
thtmdering  under  their  galloping  steeds.  Mid- 
way in  their  mad  career  they  fired  a  volley  from 
their  escopetas.  As  Carroll  gave  the  order  to 
fire,  he  saw  Captain  Gillie  reel  backward,  his  hand 
to  his  face. 

Again  the  volley  roared  from  the  American 


LAST  STAND  OF  THE  CABALLERO    337 

ranks,  and  the  smoke  hid  the  rushing  line  of  horse- 
men. While  it  hung  idly  in  the  air,  the  square, 
now  a  triple  line  of  glistening  bayonets,  waited 
to  impale  the  oncoming  foe.  But  through  the 
smoky  wall  came  no  threatening  lance  points,  no 
looming  forms  of  men  and  horses,  but  shouts  of 
dismay  and  cries  of  pain  and  anguish.  The 
Calif omian  charge  had  again  been  halted  midway 
by  the  withering  fire  from  the  American  ranks. 

The  lieutenant  rushed  to  Captain  Gillie's 
assistance.  He  was  leaning  against  a  cart,  his 
face  white  and  dazed  and  his  forehead  bleeding. 
Quickly  Carroll  xriped  the  blood  from  the  wound, 
and  to  his  amazement  and  relief  noted  that  it  was 
nothing  more  than  a  severe  bruise. 

"A  spent  ball,  captain — nothing  worse,"  he 
commented.  Yet  the  shock  had  knocked  Gillie 
almost  senseless. 

The  front  of  the  enemy's  line  was  a  tangle  of 
wounded  men  k  d  pltmging,  rearing  horses.  The 
latter,  their  chests  torn  by  musket  balls,  were 
screaming  in  agony.  The  ground  round  about 
was  dotted  with  figures,  crawling  painfully  away 
from  the  American  line.  Riderless  horses  were 
everywhere. 

"Lord,  look  at  the  empty  saddles  I"  shouted  a 
marine,  exultantly. 

"Look  a  little  closer,  boy,"  commented  Mar- 
shall, "an'  ye '11  see  a  heel  stickin*  over  the  top  of 


il 


^^^ 


h 


t  a 


338  THE  DONS  OF  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

the  saddle  and  a  fist  hangin'  to  the  pommeL 
Them  greasers,"  he  added,  "are  the  best  hossmen 
in  the  hull  darn  world.  There's  a  hundred  or 
two  of  them  out  there,  hangin'  by  their  eyelashes 
an*  the  skin  of  their  teeth  to  the  t'  other  side  of 
their  beasts." 

"Bring  the  guns  into  action,"  shouted  Com- 
modore Stockton. 

The  six  guns  which  had  been  held  in  readiness 
were  turned  toward  the  enemy. 

Again  the  Califoniians  were  advancing.  With 
a  long-drawn  yell  that  had  in  it  a  note  of  despair, 
the  cavahy  for  the  third  time  swooped  on  the 
square  from  both  sides.  Hardly  twenty  yards 
away  were  they  when  the  muskets  again  thundered 
smoke  and  flame,  and  while  the  echoes  of  the 
volley  were  still  ringing  in  the  ear,  the  cannon 
poured  its  deadly  fire  into  the  wavering  ranks. 

John  Carroll  waited  with  agonized  heart.  At 
the  very  moment  he  had  given  the  order  to  fire, 
he  had  recognized  Don  Jos6  Antonio  in  the  front 
rank  of  the  charge.  Through  the  gray  reek  in 
front  of  him  he  saw  a  stimibling  horse,  a  wavering 
lance  point,  then  a  dismounted,  tottering  man. 
Quickly  a  pistol  beside  him  spoke,  and  the  Cali- 
fomian  threw  up  his  hands  and  reeled  backward. 
Carroll's  heart  sickened. 

Disregarding  the  warning  cries  of  his  men,  he 
broke  through  the  rjmks  and  rushed  toward  the 


LAST  STAND  OF  THE  CABALLERO 


corpse.    It  was  the 


339 


I  young  officer  who  had  escorted 
him  to  the  lonely  adobe  the  night  of  his  escape 
from  the  pueblo. 

On  the  plain  horses  lay  dead  in  rows  where  they 
had  fallen  before  the  withering  vollejrs  from  the 
square.  Though  scores  of  the  enemy  were 
wounded,  many  seriously,  by  the  flying  buckshot 
and  bullets,  yet  but  one  lay  dead.  Only  the 
matchless  horsemanship  and  protective  tactics  of 
the  Califomians  had  saved  them  from  wholesale 
slaughter.  With  half  of  their  force  unmounted, 
their  powder  exhausted,  their  cannon  and  esco^ 
petas  useless,  to  attempt  another  charge  would 
have  been  sheer  madness. 

The  test  had  been  conclusive.  Against  a  well- 
armed,  well-drilled,  well-equipped  square  of  in- 
fantry, three  deep,  no  cavalry,  however  fiery  and 
chivah-ous,  could  successfully  contend.    Among 

the  Americans  four  had  lost  their  lives,  while 

seven  lay  dying  on  the  ox  carts. 
As  John  Carroll  turned  his  glass  on  the  Cali- 

fomian  column,  now  slowly  disappearing  toward 

the  hills,  his  heart  throbbed  with  thankfulness. 

He  could  distinguish,   riding  in   the  rear,   the 

figure  of  Arillo,  his  princely  head  bowed  low  in 

deep  dejection. 
Between   the   victorious   Americans   and   the 

rebellious  city  there  was  not  an  armed  man. 

The  bugle  sang  the  order  to  march. 


ih  If 


t  - 


il 


340  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

The  pueblo  of  Our  Lady,  Queen  of  the  Angels, 
and  aU  therein,  lay  at  the  mercy  of  Commodore 
Stockton. 

The  Sons  of  Ancient  Spain  had  made  their  last 
stand. 


<»! 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

"SHB  SHALL  PRAY  FOR  YOUR  DEATH" 

'pO  the  wan-eyed  girl  at  the  lattice  comes  the 
*  shriU  scream  of  the  fife,  the  throb  of  the  drum 
the  measured  tread  of  marching  men.  Par  down 
the  street,  in  the  gray  of  the  evening,  a  gleam  of 
blue,  a  flicker  of  red,  and  the  rising  murmur  of 
many  voices;  the  pueblo  is  again  in  the  hands 
of  the  hated  invader. 

Contemptuously  indifferent  to  the  curses  and 
STOwls  of  the  stragglers  on  the  street,  unheeding 
the  yells  of  execration  from  the  handful  of  va- 
queros  on  the  hiU  above  the  church,  slowly, 
st^y,  the  column  pushes  on  toward  the  plaza' 

Suddenly  a  shot  rings  out,  a  buUet  whizzes 
viaously  above  the  heads  of  the  Americans  — 
some  drunken  fool  on  the  hiU  has  discharged  his 
piece. 

Short,  shouted  orders,  the  squads  of  fours 
merge  mto  long  double  lines,  the  musket  barrels 
slope  upward.  A  stalwart  figure,—  oh,  so  familiar 
to  the  watcher  at  the  window.— raises  his  saber 
and  the  plaza  shivers  with  the  shock  of  the 
volley.  On  the  hiUtop  three  tumble  sprawling 
from  then-  horses;  the  others  scamper  madly  away 

Past  her  window  in  the  gathering  dusk,  like 

341 


.  r; 


34a  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

some  mad  phantasmagoria,   sweep  the  serried 
ranks,   among  them   John   CarroU,   his  naked 
weapon  stiU  in  his  hand,  his  face  thin  and  haggard 
lus  eyes  set  straight  ahead.    With  a  choking  sob 
the  girl  turns  away. 

To  Loreto  Arillo,  her  lover  has  come  again- 
come  with  fire  and  sword,  his  hands  red  with  the 
blood  of  her  people. 

In  the  home  of  Dofia  Chonita,  now  the  head- 
quarters of  the  American  officers,  John  CarroU 
stood  before  a  table  where  sat  Commodore  Stock- 
ton and  General  Kearney.  The  commodore  had 
sent  for  him. 

'•Lieutenant  Carroll,"  he  began,  "Captain 
CrtUie  tells  me  that  you  know  the  country  well 
about  here-— the  country  to  the  north." 

"I  rode  over  it  many  times  last  summer-sev- 
eral times  as  far  as  the  foothills,"  repKed  Carroll. 

"Flores,"  Stockton  continued,  "is  probably 
hunying  toward  the  mountains,  though  it  is 
possible  that  he  may  attempt  to  escaps  to  Mexico 
through  Sonora.  Colonel  Fremont  is  somewhere 
north  of  the  pueblo.  By  this  time  he  must  have 
received  the  dispatch  sent  to  him  two  weeks  ago 
by  Captain  Hensekj, .  He  will  be  on  the  lookout 
for  Plores." 

The  commodore  ran  his  finger  over  a  map  on  the 
table;  then  after  a  moment's  thought  he  continued: 


SHE  SHALL  PRAY  FOR  YOUR  DEATH  343 
"Fremont  must  now  be  weU  past  the  Verdugo 
HiUs.  He  wiU  probably  pass  between  them  and 
the  mountains,  hoping  to  cut  oflf  the  enemy's 
retreat. 

"For  the  deluded  rank  and  file  of  the  CaU- 
formans."  Stockton  went  on,  fixing  his  large,  bold 
eyes  on  the  Ueutenant's  troubled  face,  "I  have 
much  S3^pathy  and  respect,  but  not  for  their 
leaders,  Arillo,  Flores,  Pico,  Alvaro,  Garfias,  and 
DelaGuerra.  For  breaking  their  paroles  they 
deserve  a  drumhead  court-marital.  They  are  weU 
aware  of  this,  and  may  possibly  take  to  the 

mountams  and  inaugurate  guerrilla  warfare.  But 
there  is  a  possibihty  that  they  may  meet  with 
Fremont  and  surrender  to  him.  I  wish  the 
colonel  to  know  that  these  six  men  are  not  to  be 
mcluded  m  the  terms  of  capitulation.  I  am  not 
domg  them  any  injustice.  On  this  matter  I 
have  had  private  and  reliable  information  that  it 
was  they  and  they  alone  who  are  responsible  for 
the  revolt  and  the  bloodshed  at  Dominguez  and 
oan  Pascual." 

The  commodore  was  speaking  the  truth  His 
secret  informant  was  none  other  than  Hugo 
vanuela,  whose  communications  had  sti^ngthened 
his  determmation  to  wreak  upon  the  Dons  the 
fullest  vengeance  of  military  law, 

••I  think  it  weU  that  you  should  know  the  intent 
and  purposes  of  these  dispatches  which  you  are 


11 

St. 


344  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 


to  carry  to  Colonel  Fremont,"  he  explained,  as  he 
banded  him  the  papers. 

"Ride  well  to  the  east  of  the  Verdugo  Hills, 
lieutenant,"  Stockton  repeated.  "Keep  a  sharp 
lookout  for  the  enemy,  and  lose  no  time.  Within 
an  hour  you  must  be  on  your  way.  I  wish 
my  instructions  to  reach  Fremont  before  he  grants 
any  concessions  to  the  men  I  have  mentioned. 
He  may  do  so  innocently  unless  warned  in  time. 
Good  luck  go  with  you,"  he  added,  as  he  shook 
Carroll's  hand. 

Swinging  himself  into  the  saddle  from  the 
veranda,  the  lieutenant  trotted  out  into  the  plaza. 
Torturing  memories  wrung  him  as  he  walked  his 
horse  slowly  through  the  darkness  toward  the 
Arillo  home.  Bitter-sweet,  the  pictures  of  the 
past  marshaled  themselves  before  him  in  swift 
array, —  the  night  (it  seemed  years  ago)  that  on 
this  very  spot  he  had  felt  the  soft  form  oi  Loreto 
Arillo  clinging  to  him — had  seen  the  light  in  her 
eyes  that  had  sent  the  blood  tingling  through  his 
veins.  And  now  in  the  few  moments  left  to  him 
he  was  going  to  her.  Come  what  might,  whether 
he  was  to  be  met  with  contemptuous  scorn  or 
forgiving  tenderness,  once  more,  possibly  for  the 
last  time,  he  would  look  into  those  glorious  ^es, 
whatever  of  sorrow  or  grief  or  pain  the  futttfe 
might  bring. 

A  movement  in  the  spot  of  dmaer  black  under 


SHE  SHALL  PRAY  FOR  YOUR  DEATH  345 

the  veranda,  a  patter  of  feet,  the  swish  of  a 
woman's  garment,  and  he  felt  hands  dinging  to 
his  stirrup  leather. 

"Juan,"  came  a  whisper  through  the  darkness. 

He  was  looking  down  into  the  eyes  of  Loreto 
Arillo,  upraised  to  meet  his. 

Forgotten  the  dispatches,  forgotten  the  impera- 
tive necessity  of  haste,  forgotten  everything  save 
that  here,  within  reach  of  his  arms,  was  the 
woman  he  loved.  He  leaped  from  his  horse  and 
gathered  her  to  him,  kis^g  her  rapturously  on 
lips  and  hair.  From  her  came  neither  response 
nor  protest  as  she  leaned  heavily  against  him. 

"Mi  querida,  I  came  as  quickly  as  I  could  and— 
I  must  go  in  a  few  moments.  I  carry  papers" — 
he  hesitated  for  a  moment— "to  the  north." 

The  girl  started,  and  drew  away  from  him. 

"Oh,  thou — thou — thou — "  she  gasped  as 
with  straightened  arm  she  held  him  at  a  distance. 
"Thou  ridest  to  Fremont  with  papers  from 
Stockton— the  cruel  Stockton— to  warn  Fremont 
to  show  no  mercy.  Mercy  of  God,  my  Juan,  can 
it  be  so?" 

In  his  silence  she  saw  the  confirmation  of  her 
fears. 

For  that  afternoon,  with  the  roar  of  the  cannon 
on  the  mesa  still  ringing  in  her  ears,  she  had  heard 
one  of  the  oldest  men  of  the  pueblo  comforting 
her  mother  with  the  assurance  that  two  possible 


346  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

tvwiues  <rf  escape  lay  open  to  her  father  and  his 
friends.  They  might  secure  favorable  terms  of 
capitulation  from  Premont,  now  advancing  south- 
ward, or  they  might  escape  to  Mexico.  But  now 
the  last  faint  hope  was  to  be  destroyed.  Warned 
of  Stockton's  attitude  toward  thr  Dons,  Premont 
could  show  no  mercy,  and  with  his  weU-equipped 
cavahy  he  would  swoop  down  upon  them  as  an 
eagle  strikes  ite  defenseless  prey. 

"Holy  Mother,"  she  moaned  as  her  head 
dropped  on  his  shoulder,  "thou  art  to  be  my 
father's  messenger  of  death  I" 

The  tortured,  suffering  man  was  silent.  Raising 
her  head,  the  girl  drew  quietly  away  from  him. 

"Come  within  the  house."  Her  tone  was  cahn 
and  deliberate.  "It  is  not  fitting  that  we  sliould 
stand  without  by  the  veranda,  even  if  it  be  dark. 
Come,  Juan— for  but  a  moment.  It  may  be  the 
last  time  for  us,"  she  added  meaningly. 

As  he  entered  the  long,  low  living  room  he  noted 
Seiiora  Arillo  kneeling  at  a  table,  her  head  on  her 
arms,  absorbed  in  silent  grief.  She  had  been 
praying;  her  beads  were  still  clasped  in  her  hands, 
hands  on  which  the  teardrops  glistened  in  the 
candle  light.  At  their  entrance  she  raised  her 
head  and  stared  at  them  half  stupidly,  without 
word  of  welcome. 

But  Loreto  had  no  thought  for  her  mother. 
Passing  her  fingers  deftly  over  the  front  of  Carroll's 


SHE  SHALL  PRAY  FOR  YOUR  DEATH  347 

jacket,  she  felt  within  the  crunch  of  papers.    Then 
desperation  showing  in  her  face  and  eyes,  sh«  ihre^ 
herself  upon  him  and  pressed  her  ripe  reJ  lips  to 
his  passionately.  *^ 

"Juan,  Juan,  thou  lovest  me— is  it  not  so?" 
"God  knows  I  do,  Loreto." 
"To-night,  then,  thou  wilt  i.rove  it  to  me  " 
There  was  eager  triumph  in  i;er  voice.    Vfer 
silken  cheek  lay  against  his;  her  breath  was  hot  on 
his  neck.    Against  his  breast  he  could  feel  the 
rounded  outlines  of  her  bosom. 

"If  thou  lovest  me~then  give  me  the  papers 
Give  them  to  me.  But  little  hope  is  there  from 
Fremont.  He  is  cruel ;  by  him  were  the  Berryessa 
boys  and  their  uncle  shot  to  death,  and  Don  Jesus 
i^ico  at  San  Luis  Obispo,  yet  what  little  hope 
there  may  be  the  coming  of  thy  papers  will  kill. 
Oh,  Juan,  Juan,  give  me  the  papers!" 

Her  hands  were  fumbling  at  the  buttons  of  his 
jacket. 

The  man  groaned. 

"I  cannot,  Loreto,  I  cannot.  Little  thou 
knowest  what  thou  asketh.  I  cannot.  God  help 
me-~God  help  us  both."  he  moaned,  as  he  grasped 
the  hands  that  were  nowreachingfor  the  dispatches 

Sefiora  Arillo,  still  on  her  knees,  was  staring  at 
them  with  pale  face  and  tortured  eyes.  In  her 
very  presence  her  daughter  was  shattering  every 
tradition   of  maidenly  modesty,   clinging   to  a 


348  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

man  with  lithe  encircling  arms  and  burning  lips 

lips  that  were  raining  kisses  on  his  set,  agonized 
face.  The  mother's  countenance  showed  her 
suffering,  but  she  was  silent.  The  life  of  Don 
Antonio  was  at  stake.  Loreto  was  bartering  her 
caresses  for  her  father's  life,  as  a  courtesan  sells 
herself  for  gold. 

Again  the  girl  entwined  him  in  hsr  arms,  her 
cheek  against  his,  her  tears  dampening  his  face 
and  brow. 

"Give  them  to  me !  Think,  Juan,  5ve  hours'— 
three  hours'— perhaps  one  hour's  delay  means 
my  father's  life.  Given  time,  he  may  escape  to 
Mexico.  Thou  canst  say  thou  lost  the  papers- 
dropped  them  on  the  way.  Give  them  to  me!" 
she  pleaded. 

"No  harm  will  come  to  thee.  'Twould  not 
be  strange  to  lose  the  papers.  Give  them  to  me, " 
she  panted,  "and  I  am  thine— when  and  how 
thou  wilt— here  and  now  if  thou  wish  it.  In  one 
moment  we  can  bring  Father  Estenaga  from  the 
Plaza  Church." 

No  words  from  John  Carroll's  quivering  lips. 
Within  his  soul  a  battle  raged,  such  as  seldom 
comes  to  any  man— a  battle  such  as  leaves 
marks  of  age  on  cheek  and  brow. 

"If  thou  wilt  not  give  them  to  me,  promise 
me,"  she  pleaded,  "oh,  promise  me,  Juan,  that 
thou  wilt  lose  them,  or  that  thou  wilt  lose  thy  way 


SHE  SHALL  PRAY  FOR  YOUR  DEATH  349 

Two  Wg  tears  were  slowly  stealing  down 
^U^  d,«ks.  but  his  face  was  set  an/his  jl^ 
finn.  Not  for  nothing  had  John  CarroU  cC 
rf  a  race  of  soldie,..  The  battle  was  overl^: 
soldier  had   conquered   the   lover.    GentT;  he 

..^  and  held  her  wnsts  as  he  spoke. 
Heaven  have  mercy  on  us.  Loreto,  I-I-i 
^ot.    I  must  do  my  duty,  come  what  may.    I 

I  ^aLo";  J'^'^^'i'  "  ^^^^  ^y  strength 
I  cannot  be  counted  a  traitor  to  my  country 

and  to  my  duty.    No  CarroU  ever  faikd  iTth^ 
l^ll\^:^''    Kiss  me  once.  U^^-t 

ofS;    \*^^f^  «^«  ^^  no  hope.    The  sacrifice 

hL  »L  "^'"^^  °^°^"^'y'  ^^'^  ^^'"^y  reserve 
had  been  m  vain.  Over  her  face  flooded  a  wave 
of  angry  red.  Injured  pride  stung  through  the 
deademng  despair  of  the  moment.  ^ 

*  .u^'l,  ^^®  motioned  toward  the  door.     "Mv 
father's  blood  wiU  redden  your  hands.    Go.  and 
W  me  o  pray  on  bended  knees  for  your  deaTh 
^,  that  I  may  ask  the  Virgin  to  grant  that  you 
may  never  reach  Fremont. "  ^ 

28 


0 


!  ■ 


,i  *^ 


350  THE  DONS  OF  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

His  shoulders  drooped  as  if  laden  with  a  sudden 
weight,  kindly  he  groped  to  the  door  and 
mounted  hk  horse.  His  heart  aching,  his  head 
whirling,  he  spurred  his  mount  into  a  wild  gallop 
around  the  comer  and  into  one  of  the  side  streets 
leading  north  out  of  the  plaza.  Eve-  before  him 
rose  the  tear-stained  face  of  Loreto,  and  the 
bitterness  of  her  parting  words.  Now,  even 
now,  she  was  praying,  praying  that — 

Like  a  blow,  the  words  of  the  Indian  woman 
came  to  him,  palpitating  throt^h  his  mind  with 
cruel  reiteration:  "She  who  loves  you  shall  pray 
for  your  death — shall  pray  for  your  death — 
shall  pray  for  yoiur  death."  His  horse's  feet 
seemed  to  patter  the  words  as  he  swung  on. 

Again  their  meaning  changed  and  their  regular 
thud  sang:  "Blood  shall  smear  your  path — smear 
your  path — smear  your  path." 

Furiously  he  spurred  his  horse,  dashing  through 
the  stream  without  pause,  the  fl)ring  water  min- 
gling unnoticed  with  the  perspiration  on  his  face. 
Over  the  rise  in  the  ground  1^  galloped  and  woiind 
through  the  same  hollow,  where,  sick  and  dizzy, 
one  August  day  six  months  before  he  had  gazed 
into  the  muzzles  of  the  executioners*  menacing 
guns. 

"God,"  he  groaned,  "why  didn't  I  die  then? 
I  should  have  been  spared  this." 

Around  him  iie  felt,  drawing  closer,  nearer,  and 


SHE  SHALL  PRAY  FOR  YOUR  DEATH  351 

tighto-,  the  meshes  of  the  anpitying,  encirding 
fate,  foretold  by  the  blind  Indian  hag.  In  the 
starry  sky  above,  in  the  dark  earth  below,  in  his 
own  soul,  nowhere  was  there  help,  hope,  or  mercy 
Over  him  surged  a  great  wave  of  bitterness— an 
ocean  of  self-pity  and  despair. 

Suddenly  there  fell  upon  him  a  cahn— a  calm  so 
strange  that  it  seemed  almost  like  a  relief.     He 
sighed  and  wondered.    Though  he  knew  it  not 
It  was  the  cahn  of  utterly  exhausted  emotion' 
Dimly  he  felt  that  he  could  suffer  no  more,  that 
the  limit  bad  been  reached.    Truly  it  mattered 
httle  what  happened  now.    Almost  he  felt  him- 
self wishing  that  Loreto's  prayer  would  be  granted 
that  a  flying  buUet  or  a  kindly  lance  point  would 
end  it  all.    He  was  ready. 

He  reined  his  horse  suddenly.     Was  that  the 
soft  scuffle  of  hoofs  in  the  rear  ?    Cantering  behind 
a   rise,    he   waited.    Surely   that   dark   shadow 
movmg  on  the  far  side  of  the  arroyo  was  a  horse- 
man!   He   drew  his  pistol  from   his  belt  and 
peer  jd  again  across  the  depression.     But  no  dark 
form  emerged  from  the  bushes;  aU  was  silence 
Th«i   he   smiled   cheerfuUy.    It   was   MarshaU 
he  concluded,   attired  in   his  strange  disguise' 
foUowmg   him   as    bodyguard.    StiU    somewhat 
puzzled,  for  he  could  see  no  reason  for  the  frontiers- 
man's secretive  tactics,  he  resumed  his  way,  now 
m  the  arroyo,  over  its  white  sands,  now  on  the 


ft 


3Sa    THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

brink,  ever  peering  watchfully  into  the  scattered 
shrubbery  on  its  level  floor. 

He  was  now  six  or  seven  miles  from  the  pueblo. 
Par  away  to  the  north  loomed  the  moimtain  range, 
a  heaving  swell  of  blackness  against  the  starlit  sky. 
To  the  right,  across  the  arroyo,  rose  the  last  of  a 
succession  of  low  rolling  hills,  that  ran  northeast 
from  the  city.  Beyond  that  to  the  mountains, 
five  miles  away,  there  was  no  eminence  from 
which  he  could  look  for  the  warning  camp  fires 
of  Fremont.  Carefully  he  climbed  the  hill,  and 
as  his  horse  drew  out  on  the  roimded  top,  free  from 
oaks,  he  started,  and  muttered  in  surprise: 

"Fremont's  camp." 

He  was  the  soldier  again,  alert  and  attentive. 
Below  him,  bathed  in  the  mellow  moonlight,  lay 
the  rounded,  billowing  tops  of  the  oaks,  with  here 
and  there  an  open  park.  A  half-mile  or  so  away, 
to  the  northeast,  around  the  foot  of  a  low  conical 
hill,  lay  a  crescent-shaped  line  of  glittering  specks 
of  flame. 

His  brow  knit  in  perplexity.  Was  it  Fremont 
or  Flores,  or  both?  Had  the  two  armies  met 
already?  Had  there  been  a  battle,  or  a  peaceful 
surrender?    He  did  not  know. 

If  the  fires  he  saw  flickering  like  stars  against 
the  blackness  of  the  distant  hill  were  those  of  the 
beaten  Califomian  army,  he  was  truly  in  a 
dangerous  position,  for  he  could  not  be  far  from 


SHE  SHALL  PRAY  FOR  YOUR  DEATH  355 

their  outposts.    At  any  moment  he  was  likely  to 
encounter  one  of  their  pickets.  \ 

And  yet  it  might  be  Fremont.    If  it  were,  and 
he  were  to  ride  still  farther  west  in  search  of  the 
Pathfinder,  it  would  mean  a  loss  of  hours  before 
the   dispatches   were  delivered.    Stockton  had 
urged  haste.    The  words  of  Loreto  came  to  him  • 
"Lose  thy  way  till  sunrise."  and  with  them  the 
temptation  to  ride  westward.    No  blame  could  be 
attached  to  him;  it  would  be  but  an  error  of 
judgment.     But  the  blood  of  his  father  within  him 
was  uppermost,  and  he  put  the  disloyal  thought 
sternly  away.    There   was  nothing  to  do  but 
reconnoiter. 

Tying  his  horse  to  an  oak,  for  he  felt  that 
he  could  more  easily  escape  detection  on  foot,  he 
cautiously  descended  the  hiU,  gliding  noiselessly 
from  tree  to  tree  tiU  he  reached  the  edge  of  the 
arroyo.  Silently  creeping  from  one  open  spot  to 
another,  along  the  winding  rim  of  the  water 
course,  he  could  hear  below  him  the  gurgle  of 
running  water  and  the  drowsy  chiips  of  birds 
disturbed  from  their  slumbers  in  the  trees  about. 

Smooth  and  level  was  the  road  by  the  arroyo's 
brink,  dwindling  at  times  to  a  mere  bridle  path 
bordered  at  his  left  by  the  dark  tops  of  the  syca- 
mores, whose  roots  were  set  in  the  arroyo  bottom. 
His  plans  were  made.  Could  he  approach  near 
enough  to  the  picket  line,  a  few  moments'  scrutiny 


i» 


354  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 


would  tell  whether  the  camp  was  American  or 
Califomian.  He  would  follow  the  rim  of  the 
arroyo  to  the  north  toward  the  mountains  until 
due  west  of  the  camp,  and  then  creep  carefully 
over  the  rise  that  tcjomed  now  between  him  and 
the  camp  fires.  Possibly  he  could  creep  near 
enough  to  catch  a  glimpse  of  the  men  moving 
about  the  fires  or  to  overhear  a  few  spoken  words. 

A  mile  of  stealthy  advance;  the  road  swung 
away  from  the  bank;  the  trees  faded  away  on  all 
sides,  leaving  an  op^  moonlit  space,  where  stood 
alone  a  giant  oak,  wide  branched  and  stately. 
Suddenly  Carroll  recognized  the  tree.  He  had 
riddai  past  it  one  day  with  Don  Augustin  Alvaro. 
Over  the  rise  to  the  east  where  shone  the  camp 
fires  was  the  ranch  house  of  the  San  Pasqual,  the 
country  *•  ?  lie  of  Don  Jos6  Antonio  Arillo. 

As  he  itt  jped  into  the  shadow  of  the  oak  his 
waiting  ear  detected  the  sound  of  approaching 
footsteps.  He  glanced  upward.  Above  him 
stretched  a  long,  level  limb  of  the  tree.  Bound- 
ing from  the  earth,  he  grasped  it  with  both  hands, 
and  drew  himself  up.  In  a  moment  he  was  lying 
flat  on  the  bough,  unseen  in  the  obscurity,  motion- 
less, watchful. 


■■1: 


if 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

BY  THE  GIANT  OAK 

OULLENLY  and  doggedly  the  beaten  Cali- 
*^  fomian  army  drew  slowly  to  the  northeast 
from  the  battlefield  of  the  mesa. 

From  the  vanguard,  where  rode  Flores,  AriHo, 
and  the  other  oflScers,  to  the  groaning  wounded 
in  the  last  of  the  lumbering  carretas,  was  the 
speechless  gloom  of  utter  despair.  Through  the 
green,  wide-flung  vales,  around  the  low,  rolling 
hills  to  the  northeast,  the  cavalry  line  woimd 
slowly  and  painfully.  Ever,  during  the  short 
winter  evening,  their  anxious  eyes  turned  to  the 
southward,  where  the  pickets  of  their  own  rear 
guard  could  be  seen  on  the  swelling  hilltops 
watchfuUy  alert  for  a  glimpse  of  the  enemy. 
But  from  the  solitary  horseman  on  the  eminences 
came  no  fluttering  signal,  no  warning  pistol  flash 
that  told  of  pursuit. 

The  westering  sun  was  low  in  the  sky  before  the 
San  Pasqual  Rancho  was  reached.  The-e,  on  the 
wide  open  space  at  the  foot  of  the  hill,  the  order 
was  given  to  make  camp.  Food  was  not  lacking, 
for  Arillo,  with  characteristic  forethought  for 
the  welfare  of  the  men,  even  while  the  last  wild 
charge  of  the  Califomian  horse  was  roEng  back 
in  confusion,   had  hastily  dispatched  gaUoping 

35S 


it' 


3S6  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

couriers  to  the  rancho  with  orders  to  prepare  for 
the  coming  of  the  army.  It  was  his  own  cattle 
that  were  driven  into  camp,  butchered  on  the  spot, 
and  roasted  at  the  fires  that  in  the  gathering  dusk 
soon  blazed  around  the  foot  of  the  hill. 

In  the  adobe  ! xult  by  Leo  the  J5tranger  the 
officers  made  their  headquarters.  Early  after 
their  arrival  they  held  a  council  of  war.  All  were 
present  except  Hugo  Vanuela.  He  had  been 
degraded  to  the  ranks  as  punishment  for  his 
failure  to  advance  at  the  critical  moment  during 
the  fight  at  the  riVer,  a  punishment  which  he 
received  with  a  contemptuous,  indifferent  shrug. 

Their  councils  were  divided;  they  could  reach 
no  conclusion.  Commandant  Flores  and  Garfias 
urged  that  the  Dons  disband  the  army  and  escape 
to  Mexico  by  the  way  of  the  San  Gorgonio  Pass. 
With  characteristic  optimism,  Pico  and  De  la 
Guerra,  believing  that  in  spite  of  his  threats  the 
American  commander,  now  that  he  had  attained 
his  end,  the  capture  of  the  pueblo,  might  yet  prove 
magnanimous,  were  in  favor  of  again  opening 
negotiations  with  Stockton.  Rico  and  Cota 
advised  retreat  to  the  moimtains,  where  a  guerrilla 
warfare  could  be  carried  on  interminably. 

"Wilt  ride  with  us  to  Sonora,  Don  Jos6 
Antonio? "  said  Flores  to  Arillo,  who  had  taken  no 
part  in  the  discussions. 

"I  cannot,  I  will  not,  run  away.    Far  rather 


JMT^'^nfT'-'^^^?^^  ^■:k-'%-^m 


BY  THE  GIANT  OAK  357 

woi^d  I  have  history  relate  that  Don  Jos6  Antonio 
Anllo  died  even  on  the  scaffold  than  that  Don  Jos6 
Antonio  AriUo  fled.  I  wiU  remain,  or  go  to  the 
mountains;  which,  I  have  not  decided." 

It  was  finally,  determined  to  postpone  further 
discussion  till  the  morrow.  Worn  out  by  the 
stirring  events  of  the  day,  they  retired  to  their 
couches. 

Arillo,  to  whose  eyes  sleep  refused  to  come, 
mounted  his  horse  and  made  a  round  of  the  out- 
posts before  again  seeking  his  couch.    Over  the 
rolling   hills,    the    darkened    plain,    the   gently 
rounded  tops  of  the  oaks,  the  high-sailing  moon 
cast  Its  softened  glow.    High  up  on  the  hiU  above 
him  the  lone  figure  of  a  picket  was  silhouetted 
agamst  the  starlit  sky.    To  the  south  the  arroyo 
hiU  rose,  a  swell  of  lusterless  blue-black,  to  meet 
the  spangled  glory  of  the  night.    Close  at  hand 
the  dewdrops  gUstened  on  the  leaves  and  grass 
blades.    Around  him.  half  hidden  in  the  dense 
shadows  of  the  oaks,  lay  the  twisted  forms  of  his 
men.    Mingled  with  the  ceaseless  song  of  the 
spring  came  the  champing  of  the  tethered  horses 
farther  up  the  hill,  the  movement  of  a  restless 
sleeper,  a  few  muttered  words,—  the  many  indis- 
tinct sounds  of  the  slumbering  camp. 

The  Don,  his  inspection  of  the  outposts 
completed,  dismounted  and  threaded  his  way 
among  the  recumbent  figures  beneath  the  oaks. 


m 


3S8    THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

Bending  over,  he  touched  a  deeper  oo  the  cheek, 

and  Manuel,  startled,  sat  up. 
"Come,  my  son,"  whispered  AriUo.    "I  would 

speak  with  thee." 
"Mount,"    commanded    the    father,    as    he 

motioned  to  his  horse  standing  in  the  open. 

Wonderingly  the  boy  obeyed. 
"Listen,    Manuel,    my   son."    There   was   a 

tremor  in  the  voice  of  the  Don.    "It  is  now  time 

f<M-  thee  to  return  home.    Leave  thy  arms  here. 

Ride  quietly  into  the  pueblo.    Speak  to  no  one. 

Remain  within  the  house  for  many  days  with 

thy  mother  and  sister.      They  will  need  thee  far 

more  than  does  the  army. 

"Son,"  and  Arillo's  voice  was  now  husky  with 
emotion,  "it  may  be  we  shall  not  meet  again. 
If  the  worst  comes  to  me,  do  thou  try  to  bear  it 
like  a  man.  It  will  be  for  thee,  then,  to  uphold 
and  comfort  by  thy  strength  thy  mother  and 
sister.    Remember,  they  will  look  to  thee. 

"Whatever  comes  to  pass,  Manuel,  remember 
it  is  the  will  of  God.  In  the  days  to  come,  let 
there  be  no  bitterness  in  thy  heart  toward  the 
Americans.  It  will  be  but  the  way  of  war.  Do 
thou  try  to  learn  their  tongue  and  their  ways. 
Guard  well  thy  mother  and  sister.  Remember 
what  I  now  say  to  thee— what  my  father,  dying, 
said  to  me,— 'An  Arillo  can  never  be  aught  but 
a  Christian  and  a  gentleman.' 


BY  THE  GIANT  OAK  359 

••May  the  saints  preserve  thee,  my  son.  Go- 
go  by  the  south;  the  pickets  there  have  orders  to 
let  thee  pass." 

The  boy,  awed  by  the  solemnity  in  his  father's 
voice,  was  sobbing  with  bent  head.  Suddenly 
he  leaped  to  the  ground. 

fhJ^'^i  °°'  ^^i^^'J  ^  "^^  °°*  «°-     ^*  "^«  die  with 
thw    he  implored,  as  he  clung  to  him  frantically 
No,  my  child;  it  must  not  be.    They  need 
thee.    Go,  my  son;  go,  I  command  thee  " 

One  last  embrace,  and  the  boy,  stiU  sobbing, 
obeyed.  As  the  sound  of  his  horse's  hoofbeats  died 
away  in  the  distance  the  father  sank  to  the  grass 
his  head  on  his  knees.    Over  him  surged  a  great 
wave  of  despair.    His  heart  ached  as  he  thought 
oi  his  wife  of  Loreto,  of  Jos6,  whose  fate  no  one 
faiew,  of  Manuel,  whom  he  had  seen  probably  for 
the  last  time,  and  the  inevitable  ignominy  of  the 
morrow.    From  the  adobe  came  the  low  moans  of 
'•^"l '  f  ^^!»t«J^  scream  of  adyingman. 
of  rSj^'  '^1^^  ^'  head  as  if  in  the  presence 
of  death,  "this-is-the  end.    Oh,  God  above," 
he  moaned,  as  he  gazed  up  at  the  scintillating 
firmament,   '  is  there  no  help  ?" 

But  the  stars  looked  down  on  the  broken- 
hearted  man  ^th  their  cold,  steely  gUtter,  as 
they  have  looked  down  at  the  agony  and  soul  grief 
of  countless  thousands  of  men  since  the  beginning 
of  time.  • 


/:|l 


u.~ 


MICROCOTY   RESOLUTION  TBT   CHART 

(ANSI  and  ISO  TEST  CHART  No.  2) 


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^  APPLIED  IfVMGE    Inc 

S^  '653   Eost   Main   Street 

S'.S  Rochester.  New  York        14609       USA 

'^S  (716)  482  -  0300  -  Phone 

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36o  THE  DONS  OF  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

The  sound  of  a  stealthy  footstep  caused  him  to 
turn  his  head.  In  the  dim  form  he  had  glimpsed 
melting  into  the  obscurity  of  the  underbrush  the 
Don  fancied  he  had  recognized  the  figure  of  Hugo 
Vanuela.  Arillo  knew  well  that  he  had  not  been 
one  of  the  evening's  detail  of  pickets.  That  the 
man  who  had  been  under  suspicion  since  his 
disobedience  at  the  river  should  be  prowling  about 
the  sleeping  camp  was  a  matter  for  instant  investi- 
gation. 

Now  halting  in  the  shadows,  now  dodging  from 
tree  to  tree,  then  dashing  across  open,  moonlit 
spaces,  Arillo  followed  the  retreating  figure  for 
nearly  a  mile,  up  the  gentle  rise  to  the  west,  and 
down  the  long  slope  toward  the  arroyo. 

Close  was  the  fugitive  to  the  edge  of  the  chasm, 
when,  as  if  disdaining  fiuther  concealment,  he 
halted  beneath  a  giant  oak  that  stood  alone  in  a 
circle  of  moonlight.  It  was  Hugo  Vanuela,  and 
as  he  faced  Arillo  he  drew  his  sword  with  a  fine 
air  of  bravado. 

"So-o-o,"  there  was  malignant  triimiph  in  the 
long  drawn  vowel,  "it  is  the  Senor  Arillo.  I 
expected  you  to  follow.  You  were  very  prompt. 
I  thank  you,  seiior." 

"Why  this  skulking  on  the  outskirts  of  the 
camp,  Seflor  Vanuela?  Return  at  once  to  your 
company,"  ordered  Don  Jos6  Antonio. 

"I   am   not   a   member   of   your  command; 


^T 


BY  THE  GIANT  OAK  36, 

'■You  are  a  traitor,  Vanuela,  as  you  were  but 
cany  to  the  enemy  news  of  our  whereabouts  ■• 

Anllo.  that  we  fight  here,  with  the  land  of  the  San 
Pasqual  beneath  our  feet.-the  land  that  was  my 

[fin  '  'I  f""  ^°'^''  ^°^  'h^"  y^<^  be  mine.    It 
IS  weU  and  fittmg  also  that  you  should  die  here." 
In  the  clear.  moonUt  stillness  the  musical  clang 
of  the  r  rm^ng  blades  came  to  Lieutenant  John 
Carroll  as  he  clung    enthralled    to    the    limb 
of  the  mighty  oak.    Now  on  the  dewlit  grass 
now  gyrating  under  the  shadow  of  the  tree,  the 
men  fought.  AnUo  ever  on  the  offensive;  Vai^uela 
retreating,  wheeling,  cautious  and  wary,  playing 
a  w^tmg  game.     As  they  swung  around  the  tree 
trunk  they  were  hidden  from  CarroU's  view  by  the 
inteivemng  branches.     When  they  again  emerged 
mto  the  moonhght  he  saw  that  Arillo's  cheek  was 
laid  wide  open,  and  that  his  white  shirt  was 
streaked  with  blood.    Closer,  ever  nearer  to™ 
overhangmg  bough  they  moved,  until  the  Ameri- 
can  could  look  down  into  their  faces.  Arillo's  hard 


^M 


KfJ 


PI 


i 


I 


362  THE  DONS  OF  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

set,  and  worried,  Vanuela's  twisted  in  sneering 
triumph.  Like  streaks  of  burnished  silver  their 
blades  scintillated  in  the  moonlight,  and  far  up  the 
hill  a  mocking  bird,  in  answer  to  the  rhythmic 
clang,  awoke  from  its  slumbers  and  poured  forth 
its  soul  in  song. 

Vanuela  was  a  magnificent  swordsman;  the 
agility  of  youth  and  his  sturdy  strength  were  in 
his  favor,  while  the  pace  he  was  now  setting  was 
a  killing  one  for  Arillo's  maturer  years.  Already 
Don  Jos6  Antonio  was  weakening;  the  silent 
watcher  in  the  tree  could  hear  his  hard-drawn 
breath.  * 

A  furious  clatter  of  steel,  and  Vanuela  gave  way 
before  the  Don's  desperate  attack.  But  only 
for  a  moment.  Hugo  grinned  as  he  felt  on  his 
blade  the  weakening  pressure  that  told  of  his 
antagonist's  relaxed  effort. 

A  few  seconds  of  further  play,  and  Carroll 
saw  the  sword  of  Don  Jos6  Antonio  fly  through 
the  air  and  rebound  from  the  tree  trunk. 

Not  a  moment  did  Hugo  Vanuela  hesitate. 
With  incredible  quickness  he  unhooked  the  riata 
dangling  at  his  hip  and  cast  its  long  noose  over 
Arillo's  shoulders,  and  then,  loop  after  loop, 
bound  him  in  its  repeated  folds,  until  he  was 
helpless.  Panting  and  breathless  in  its  stiffening 
coils,  the  Don  tottered  to  the  groimd. 

Vanuela   silently   drew   from   his   clothing   a 


BY  THE  GIANT  OAK  363 

tmder  box,  dicfced  the  sted  and  flint,  and  csUnlv 

anoke  he  seated  himself  on  a  stone,  facing  the 
Men  ^rnan,  who  was  staring  at  him  with  wondt 

Ariito  ^  W  "^  "^  ''"''"•  °°°  J<»«  Antonio 
■anllo,  to  nave  a  conversation,  a  very  orivat,. 

conversation,  w.h  you.  and  tlis  wirdouS 
be  the  fast  opportunity  that  wiU  be  cS^Z 
me.  You  Senor  Don  Jos«  Antonio,  are  one  of 
the  eente  de  razon."  he  went  on  in  a  ^lalevokntly 
^^g  vo.ce.    "From  me  your  faces  weral"^ 

S  Z  r^^'  '^^  '"*  '^°°"  of  y°"  homes 
w^h  !?  !  f«"°  many  a  man  in  the  pueblo 
^t    A.W  °*  ^  "■^'^-'hal  to  buy  a  L>„d 

^„-^  ^v"  '  "^"^  *'>^'  ''y  "ght  *ould  now 

a^Z'pe  J  h'  ^°'^''*  J*"^  ""^  ^''*«'-  ^y  dying 
nnw  '^?T''5°.''«  made  provision  for  the  future 
Don  Jos«  Antonio,  for  I  swore  tc  him  that  orS 
^am  would  I  win  the  rancho  of  the  San  PaLj^S 
and  tha^^  you  and  yours  should  suffer-should 
pay  m  bl  and  sorrow,  in  grief  and  tears  I 
have  kept  the  oath;  so  shaU  it  be.  For  I  shall 
rfl'J^^,  ^^  Americans  take  you  and  the  others 

^^     if      ^'^-     *  ''°°"  waU-the  firing 
squad.    It  ,s  a  pretty  picture,  is  it  not,  Don  Jos^ 


m. 


i'^'A 


364  THE  DONS  OF  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

Antonio  Arillo?  Or  maybe— one  cannot  tell— 
the  Americans  have  some  strange  ways.  It  is 
said  they  like  the  rope.  Perhaps  it  will  be  that 
very  honorable  death  for  the  noblemen  of  the 
gente  de  razon." 

The  pride  of  Don  J  S  Antonio  kq  t  him  silent. 
He  was  staring  at  vanuela  scornfully.  Hugo 
watched  him  curiously,  showing  his  big  white 
teeth  in  a  satisfied  grin. 

^^  "Pardon  me,  my  dear  seiior,"  he  continued. 
"I  assure  you  I  am  telling  you  a  very  wicked 
untruth.    I  shall  not  have  the  pleasure  of  seeing 
you  shot  or  hanged  by  the  Americans,  but  instead 
a  much  greater  one,  that  of  killing  you  myself 
in  a  few  minutes.    Oh,  yes;  it  i^  true  you  might 
cry  out.    It  might  bring  some  one  from  the  camp, 
and  I  should  simply  have  to  kill  you  the  sooner." 
Above,  Carroll  clung  to  the  bough,  shocked, 
silent,  motionless.    But  along  the  limb  lay  his 
pistol,  primed  and  cocked,  its  sight  covering  the 
head   of   Hugo   Vanuela.    A   do^ien   times   his 
finger  trembled  on  the  trigger,  but  he  hesitated. 
The  Califomian  camp  was  less  than  a  mile  away, 
and  &  single  shot  would  mean  his  capture,  the 
loss  of  the  dispatches,  and  possible  execution  as 
a  spy.    With  thumping  heart  and  set  teeth,  he 
waited. 

"They  do  say,  sefior,"  went  on  Hugo,  "that 
one  grows  wise,  very  wise,  when  close  to  death. 


BY  THE  GIANT  OAK 


bejSS.dtSLV'^''^"-'-'"-'' Of  utter 

"I  have  heard  my  father  sav— h.f~ 
your  fi  jds  killed  him-fW  '""'  ""^ 

and  not  the  blood  thT^?^v"  '^  the  brain 
the  blood  ttat^l^*"?f«  *«  "«».  even  were 

now  thTviX  is  t  tttV"'''  t  ""'^-    And 
'■aif-breed.  hZo'MZ''"^  "^  ""^  "^'-^ 

to  ^'t ^  irke^r4°  ^H°"  «'  "- 

sneer  into  the  facTof  rtt        '"*  *  <^'»«<»' 

have  hated  youXl     T  w  f  "'  '"'•    "^ 

father  died,  and  S    V^       ^?  '"'*°  "^ 

your  friends  have  I«S  but  «^  °"f?"  y°"  »"d 
Like  sheep  l«ve  I  i^  „    "  ^"^^  "  "y  hands. 

«w^!rt^yrsrei;t''°°-  '^^ 

-^l^ilrLTtZ^f^  MacNamara. 
other,  who  prompted  th^  to^he  3^^°"^^ 

"You-you^"  gasped  AriUo. 

24 


■^' 


366  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

'  Myself,  none  other,  Don  Jos6  Antonio.  The 
next  day,  along  with  the  dreamer  Palera  and 
the  Englishman  MacNamara,  we  gathered  them 
at  the  Taredon  Bluff.  It  was  I,  you  will  remember, 
who  brought  to  you  the  proclamation.  Madre 
de  Dios,  but  I  was  a  fine  patriot  in  those  days — all 
with  one  purpose,  my  dear  friend, — to  have  you 
break  your  parole.  Yes,  I,  Hugo  Vanuela,  the 
despised  half-breed,  did  it  with  the  help  of  the 
Englishman,  who  was  Don  Pablo  de  Almagro, 
the  Spaniard  from  Mexico,"  he  chuckled,  "he 
whom  you  found  dead  in  the  powder  house  at 
San  Gabriel.  It  was  true!  Alvaro  was  right! 
He  was  but  an  English  agent  who  had  planned  to 
give  California  to  the  English.  You  were  too 
late.  It  was  I  who  killed  him,  but  not  before 
much  gold,  much  Englisli  gold,  had  passed  from 
his  hands  into  mine.  That  night  I  also  spoiled 
the  powder." 

"You  spoiled  the  powder?"  panted  Arillo. 

"None  other,  my  dear  Arillo.  That  is  not  all. 
Much  more  have  I  done.  It  was  I  who  sent  the 
note  to  Cota  that  prevented  the  signal  being 
given  to  Benito  Willard,  the  time  you  planned 
to  speak  with  Stockton.  It  was  at  my  suggestion 
that  Flores  sent  your  young  Jos6  to  San  Luis 
Obispo  with  dispatches.  Fremont  caught  and 
hanged  him,  I  have  learned. 

'In  every  incident  of  the  last  six  month:    Don 


<<- 


BY  THE  GIANT  OAK  35^ 

alone.    ^oto^yyt^G^tp^J^;;:;?^^ 

colonel    Fremont.    WhenThave  ^  t^^'^'" 
other  fooiryrdt^*  h«.  here  to  captm,  the 

iarhiS.rL°Sh'Sor"°:t-:rj'-^' 

ment,  when  the  carcasses  ofThTf    ,  ^     *°'^- 
rotting  under  th?^     ""*  «*""  *  ""»« <« 

"You— you  devil,"  panted  ArUlo  a.<:  h.  «„ 
gled  hopelessly  with  his  bonds  '*"«=■ 

haj^^  "^"^  ""'  ^""Jde".  and  grinned 

^^afX'^--Wp.^e 
can  one  help  it  with  such  ancestry?  "'"' 

Kttle  ^<tj^p^::^°^  "^^  »«"•  "how  a 
hates  U  loves p^^I?  ylst  i^?  *""/  "^'^ 
one  that  you  wiU  .TjeSnd  ^^^^'^  Z 
be  v«y.  ve^  wise.  „y  friend,  a  few  4.ut"liS 


1-1 


368  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 


now.  '  I  have  told  you  all  these  things,  and  I  do 
not  fear  that  you  will  repeat  them,  for  a  dead  man 
cannot  speak.  But  one  favor  I  would  ask.  You 
may  see  my  father  over  there.  Will  you  tell  him 
for  me  that  I  have  kept  my  word,  that  the  debt 
has  been  paid?" 

He  stood  above  the  helpless  man,  toying  with 
his  dagger  as  if  loath  to  end  the  gloating  joy  of 
thi"  long-looked-for  moment. 

L,at  Don  Jos6  Antonio  was  silent.  His  eyes 
were  closed  and  his  lips  moviiig  faintly.  He  was 
prajring.  When  he  opened  his  eyes  he  looked  up 
fearlessly  into  Vanuela's. 

"Pray  on — pray  on,"  sneered  Hugo.  "I  will 
wait.  Pray  to  your  angels  and  saints  to  bave  you. 
Let  them  save  you,  and  I  will  believe  they  are 
more  powerful  than  Hugo  Vanuela. 

"When  you  are  dead,"  he  went  on,  "I  shall  ride 
at  once,  not  to  Stockton  but  to  Fremont,  who  is, 
one  of  my  Indian  scouts  tells  me,  but  twenty  miles 
to  the  west,  beyrnd  the  Cahuenga  Pass,  and  in  a 
few  hours  the  other  fools  over  yonder  shall  be 
prisoners  of  war." 

Dagger  in  hand,  he  stepped  toward  the  Don, 
"Take  this  thought  with  you  into  the  other  world 
that  after  you  are  dead  your  daughter  will  be 
mine.  I  may  marry  her — perhaps;  perhaps  not, 
if  it  does  not  suit  me.  I  shall  have  her,  anyway. 
Why  should  the  daughter  of  the  gente  de  razon 


BY  THE  GIANT  OAK  369 

fa«  hotter  than  any  brc.vn  Indian  girl  in  the  wil- 

of  ^""fi^  "*«  *!:*7°"''  '*''  ^^  «•»  "hen  a  spurt 
°' /^  fif  fl«^«l  in  the  branches  of  the  oT 

heJcT^But'^'"^'  '"'*  ■"'I"""''  '^'  f«Wy  to  his 
and  ««f^  ■"  «  "«>">ent  he  had  drawn  his  sword, 
and  crossed  blades  with  John  Carroll. 

can  Bu^''~^°''~''*''"'"  '^^'J  t**  Amen. 
tremblWli™  i"**  "°  "'"""  f"™  Vanuela's 
rf  Thi  K  f  •    V'  'T"  '*'"  *h*^  f "»» the  shock 

dZ^  K  °"f  °"''''">8h'.  the  blood  trickled 
down  his  brown  cheek  in  two  dark  streams. 

With  oU  the  i5er«  fury  of  a  frenzied  kate 
CarroU  fought  en.  Twice  he  had  though?  to 
have  to  swo.d  in  Vanuela's  throat,  but  the  Utt^ 
deverly  elud^  kim.    Again  h,  pressed  Urn  d^ 

^T  *^u  *■'*  ^^  "»»  "o^-  "hen  t"  t^; 
«xs  above  the  ringing  of  steel,  came  the  pouiX 
«g  of  hoofs  over  the  rise  to  the  east 

edgt  of  the  arroyo,  and  as  Cairoll.  relaxed  Us 
efforts  he  made  an  agile  b^ck^ard  l..p,  J^^l 

Nearer  and  nearer  thundered  the  pounding 
hoofs.    As  a  sco;e  of  mounted  C  Jifomians  dashed 


•il' 


w 


no  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

up  to  the  oak,  Carroll,  who  was  racing  down  tlio 
roadway,  darted  into  the  shrubbery. 

Under  the  tree  Don  Jos6  AnUmio.  bound  fast 
in  the  wmding  strands  of  the  riata.  lay  unconscious. 


CHAPTER   xxxiir 

AT  THB  devil's  RocK 

from  beneath  the  S  """*  ~™'"« 

A  cessation  of  hoofbeats,  wild  yells  of  rn~ 

Antonio,  bound  and  bl    Jina     tk«  "^ 

Anllo  was  unconscious,   maybe  dead     Ho^ 
men  were  galloping  north  and'south    4  "^^' 
ofthearroyo.    The  man  hunt  wa-  .n 

.hfXt::h1owL7tLT-T^*'-"«'' 

s;tnors;  '"r- "-- "-- t^m's 

depth  for  the  ghmpse  of  a  moving  figure     Wrth 

^i:^ga?e"^ayrdrr^\''''-^"-^ 
th.  fl         r  f^'      **  ■"  f"""**  himself  slidine  to 

<!™n^w        'I'    "^" ''™'"  footed  a  voice  in 
Spamsh  from  the  bank  above.    The  hue  .^^ 

hiXrcrflCrtft""'""*'"*-  ^- 

center  a  w^d^g  nb^n If tuT"^"'  ''°""  '" 
^^s  noDon  of  murmuring,  moonlit 

371 


'i- 


T'- 


372  THE  DONS  OP  THS  OLD  PUEBLO 

water.  To  reach  his  horse,  hidden  in  the  oaks 
on  the  side  of  the  arroyo  hill,  was  manifestly  im- 
possible; arotmd  the  foot  of  the  eminence  he 
could  hear  the  searchers  calling  to  one  another. 
His  only  chance  was  to  run  farther  up  the  arroyo, 
find  a  place  of  concealment,  and  remain  hidden 
until  the  fury  of  the  chase  had  abated. 

Hunying  along  the  soft  rim  of  yellow  sand  at 
the  water's  edge,  he  ran  on  noisele^y,  preserving 
his  strength  and  wind  for  the  final  effort  he 
felt  was  certain  to  come,  should  they  catch  sight 
of  him.  Past  him,  as  he  ran,  glided,  dreamlike, 
forms  of  dwarf  oak  and  scrubby  sycamore.  Ever 
he  looked  to  th3  higher  giound  up  the  arroyo, 
where  the  banks  closed  in  cafLon-like  above  the 
little  stream,  and  a  deeper  blackness  told  of  tall 
evergreen  trees.  There,  in  darkness  and  silence, 
wa.",  safety. 

Only  once,  as  he  heard  a  clatter  of  falling 
pebbles,  did  he  glance  back  in  time  to  catch  a 
glimpse  of  the  dark  forms  of  mounted  men,  pick- 
ing their  way  down  the  sloping  bank.  Clearer 
came  the  sound  of  the  chase  behind  him,  the  creak 
of  leather  and  rattle  of  hoofs  among  the  loose 
stones  of  the  river  bed.  A  curse  and  a  shout, 
followixi  by  a  bullet  splash  in  the  water  at  his 
feet,  told  that  at  last  they  had  caught  sight  of 
his  fleeing  form.  Carroll  knew  the  voice;  it  was 
that  of  Ballestos.     Another  bullet  sang  above 


m 


AT  THE  DEVIL'S  ROCK  373 

hish^.    The  pounding  of  hoofs  and  exultant 
yells  drew  nearer  and  nearer. 

A  final  sprint,  and  he  dashed  into  the  compar- 
ative darkness   of   the  little   cafion.    Turning 

^^^*°Kf 'i!f ;  ^"  '^"^  ^^^^  ^*  ^^  the 
impenetrable  blackness  between  the  trees  and 

J^iamed   motionless.     Kindly,   the  moon  slid 
be^d  a  doud,  and  past  him  his  pursuers  thun- 
dered  m  wild  pursuit. 
Breathless,  exhausted,  he  lay,  until  the  hoofbeats 

ftnit?^^""  *?' ^"^^^    He  glanced  upward 
for  his  landmarks.    Above  him  towered  the  tops 
of  the  evergreens  at  the  foot  of  which  he  had  sought 
refuge.    Behind  them  rose  a  steep  hill,  capped  by 
a  cone-s^ped  rock.    The  summit,  he  calculated, 
would  afford  a  safe  hiding  place,  and  be  in- 
accessible  to  horses.  There  one  man  could  stand  off 
a  thousand.    Even  that  might  not  be  necessary. 
If  th^  discovered  his  ruse  and  returned,  he  might 
possibly  shp  over  the  narrow  isthmus-like  neck 
beyond  the  rock  and  escape  into  the  friendly  and 
more  remote  blackness  of  the  trees  beyond     If 
cornered,  he  would  fight  to  the  end.    Capture 

With  infimte  caution  he  crept  up  the  steep  face 
of  the  slope,  clinging  to  the  shrubs,  straggling 
bushes,  grass  roots,  and  jutting  stones.  The  rock 
loomed  above  him,  nearer  and  closer,  clear-cut 
against  the  starUt  sky.    There  was  a  dark  gash 


■r 


i  -  • 


:i 


374  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

across  its  front  a  few  feet  above  the  shadow  which 
shrouded  its  foot.    It  proved  to  be  a  low  cave 
a  deep  gouge  across  the  face  of  the  pinnacle. 

Could  he  reach  the  opening?    It  seemed  an 
impossible  feat.    Standing  on  the  narrow  ledge 
at  the  foot  of  the  rock,  he  reached  his  arms  high 
above  his  head,  seeking  for  a  crevice,  a  piece  of 
roughened  rock  by  which  he  might  draw  himself 
up  into  the  cleft.    Under  ordinary  circumstances 
the  effort  would  be  slight,  but  necessity  for  silence 
made   it   difficult.    Slowly   the  groping  hands 
moved  across  the  rock  face.    At  last  a  lump  on 
the  slantmg  surface  met  his  searching  fingers. 
Plattening  himself  against  the  wall  for  conceal- 
ment, he  drew  himself  up,  his  knees  scraping 
cruelly  as  he  glued  himself  to  the  ahnost  vertical 
face  of  the  rock.    Inch  by  inch  he  wriggled  up- 
ward, one  hand  reaching  out  for  another  hold 
while,  limpet-like,  he  held  fast  with  toe,  elbow' 
shoulder,  and  chin.    Once  he  slipped,  and  as  his 
body  sank  a  Kttle  a  thriU  of  fear  swept  over  him. 
For  a  moment  he  pictured  himself  crashing  to 
the  rock-strewn  stream  forty  feet  below. 

After  a  series  of  breathless  efforts,  and  what 
seemed  like  years,  he  found  himself  lying  in  the 
cleft,  his  heart  pounding  in  his  ears,  his  scraped 
knees  smarting  painfully,  his  fingers  torn  and 
bleeding,  but  his  tired  lungs  expanding  and  re- 
leasing joyfully  at  every  breath. 


AT  THE  DEVIL'S  ROCK  3,5 

Distof  "^^   ^  ?°«h^^y   looked  to   his 
Be^ow hun  the  rock  jutted  out  in  a  im^tv<Ain 

s^:?t^'e^.:rh^r^v°"--^ 

o.^  stones  Jd  t^^^,XZ"  "^' 

tack.    The  splashujg  of  horses'  feet  in  the  water 

S^att  T  t*^  *^»^«<»«  »  Castihan  told  to 
that  h,s  stalker  were  again  at  the  foot  of  the  s  W 

The  cursed  American  is  somewhere  b^: 
^»  2*offi*  ^T"-'"''-  voice  o?^an'e^. 

^e  S^T"""  ""^  *°  ^^^  °^  ""^"^^  - 

of  Ballestos,  protesting,  ordering.    The  ^^ 
about,  sUent,  on  their  horses.  "=  men  sat 

'•God  and  his  angels,  Sefior  Captain,"-the 
speaker's  words  had  the  imnerfecHnn  „f   .. 
that  marked  the  half-Indl^S^  !!^^^^- 

ant^"  "  j"JP^   BaUestos.     "Who  will  vol- 
Set  hi""    '"^'^   ™'«^   '--«>    to   » 


'  ij 


1 

t 


3! 

,1 1 


376  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

The  hunted  man  waited,  trembling  with  ex- 
haustion and  excitement.  Would  their  super- 
stitious fears  after  all  overcome  their  desire  for 
vengeance?  This  was  indeed  the  Devil's  Rock, 
where  so  man/  years  ago  the  ill-fated  Leo,  the 
father  of  Vanuela,  was  reputed  to  have  simg  his 
wicked  songs  and  chanted  his  unholy  litanies 
in  the  moonlight. 

In  spite  of  the  desperation  of  his  position, 
Carroll  smiled  grimly.  In  a  twinkling  he  changed 
his  plans.  A  pistol  shot  would  be  proof  positive 
to  the  trembling  Califomians  below  that  their 
human  quarry  was  within  reach,  but  a  blow, 
unseen,  unheard,  would  inspire  them  with  terror. 
He  drew  hip  heavy  army  pistol  from  his  belt, 
grasped  it  by  the  barrel,  and  creeping  to  the  edge 
of  the  rock  lip,  waited. 

Footsteps,  creeping,  climbing,  caused  him  to 
grasp  his  weapon  more  firmly,  rise  to  one  knee,  and 
lean  out  as  far  as  he  dared  within  the  shadow  of 
the  rock  above.  To  the  right  of  the  cleft  ap- 
peared a  black  head.  Warily  the  Califomian 
came  on,  setting  one  foot  before  the  other  on  the 
narrow  path. 

As  he  stole  on,  stopping  at  every  step  to  scan 
the  obsctuity  about  him,  his  head  was  almost 
on  a  level  with  the  floor  of  the  cave,  where 
knelt  Carroll,  one  hand  on  the  ground,  the  other 
grasping  the  pistol  upraised  in  readiness.    The 


AT  THE  DEVIL'S  ROCK  377 

C^wnian  had  evidently  made  the  ascent  from 
behind  the  rock,  where  the  slope  was  more  grad- 
ual. Apparently  he  expected  and  hoped  to  find 
no  hidden  fugitive. 

.  Down  came  the  pistol  butt  on  the  black  head 
mth  a  sickening  thud.  Without  even  a  moan 
the  man  fell,  roUing  and  sHding  into  the  darkness 
below.  As  the  sound  of  crashing  bushes  died 
away,  caUs  of  inquiry  came  from  below. 

Immediately  another  Califomian  came  silently 
around  the  rock  from  the  left,  dropped  some 
five  feet  to  the  narrow  ledge,  and  looked  about 
him  mquiringly. 
"Pedro,"  he  called  softly. 
Again  CarroU's  long  arm  shot  out  from  the 
black  cave  above  the  man's  head;  the  pistol  butt 
caught  him  fairly  above  the  temple.    With  a 
funny  httle  squeal—a  short  of  stiU-bom  shriek 
the  Califomian  reeled  outward.    Again  the  crash- 
mg  of  bushes  and  the  trickling  of  stones  told  of  a 
damaging  slide  and  fall. 

At  the  bottom  of  the  slope  aU  was  confusion 
and  terror.    They  had  seen  the  forms  of  their  two 
comrades  come  rolling  and  tumbling  toward  them 
but  the  figure  of  Carroll  was  hidden  from  thei^ 
sight  by  the  intervening  treetops. 

BaUestos  swore  softly,  and  crossed  himself. 
Draggmg  the  two  stricken  men  from  beneath  the 
tree  trunks  at  the  foot  of  the  slope,  they  found 


W 


14 


#! 


f  fi 


IB 


378  THE  DONS  OF  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

that  Pedro  was  unconscious,  and  his  companion 
dazed  and  badly  hurt. 

"Truly  it  is  the  devil's  rock,"  he  moaned.  "I 
was  struck  and  cast  down  by  no  one  that  I  could 
see.    It  was  the  devil  himself." 

The  Califomians  looked  at  one  another,  at 
their  oflBcers,  at  the  rock  gleaming  gray-white 
behind  the  treetops. 

"Por  Dios,"  muttered  one,  "I  would  we  were 
well  away  from  here." 

"Hearken,  men,"  came  the  voice  of  Ballestos. 
"Will  you  dlow  the  accursed  American  to  escape 
who  has  ahnost  murdered  your  colonel,  Don  Jos6 
Antonio  Arillo?  He  is  doubtless  an  American 
scout  who  has  stumbled  on  our  camp.  Well  you 
kiiow  that  he  will  carry  to  Stockton  at  the  pueblo 
the  news  of  our  whereabouts.  We  will  riddle  the 
hill  with  bullets,  and  charge  up  together." 

His  words  came  clearly  to  the  man  above. 
Worn  by  the  emotional  stress  of  the  last  few  hours, 
and  tired  by  his  strenuous  physical  efforts, 
Carroll  felt  ahnost  tempted  to  laugh  aloud  at  the 
mockery  of  fate.  Ke,  who  had  undoubtedly 
saved  the  life  of  Don  Jos6  Antonio,  was  counted 
his  would-be  murderer;  he,  who  had  determined 
to  make  an  appeal  to  Fremont  for  mercy  for  the 
condemned  men,  was  believed  to  be  a  scout  who 
would  carry  to  the  enemy  the  news  of  their 
whereabouts.    With  set  teeth  and  burning  heart 


AT  THE  DEVIL'S  ROCK  3;^ 

His  thoughts  were  interrupted  by  the  It^^i 

S^ffpoT^'o       ,1  *PP^  °^  Ballestos  had  had 
about  the  foot  of  the  slo™»     w-  ^        ?• 

^unarmed  aad  helpless  m^.  VieSj^ 
vmdicbve,  would  see  that  they  listen^to^ 
explanations.  CarroU's  ^tieat'^^^t^" 
a  do«n  long  lances  thrust  into  the  dT^T^l 
Plungmg  upward  voUey  ftxm.  thf  ^^t^U    ' 

murder  hmi  if  he  suirendeied.  and  if  taken  to 

tadc  would  say  he  died  insisting.         ""^^  *° 

Suddenly  he  thought  of  his   disoatches     Tt 

^  h.s  duty  to  see  that  they  did  ^^u>  til 

SL  V   ^  """"?•    ^^'^e  "'em  from  hi^ 
douMet  lus  fingers  began  to  twist  them  to  bite 

S  thl'^ave"^  ''^  ^^  "  *"«  ^^  -  *b^  fl- 


■ ! :  I- 


e^.i 


M,- 

1:  s: 


380    THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

Again  the  mar*  soul  was  shaken  by  a  tempta- 
tion so  strong  ye.  so  insidious  that  ashestrug^ied 

with  ,t  tiie  cold  drops  gathered  on  his  brow^ce 
destroyed,  the  dispatches  with  their  merdlws 

W^S"  "^^J"^^  ««<*  ^remo  :t.  whether  he 

IST'^:^^^  ''^^^^  '"""^  ^o^d  see  his 
^ot-ndd^ed  body  sprawling  at  the  foot  of  the 

S^'^i^S^''  ">^^  ^d  said,  their  destruc 
^  would  save  the  life  of  Don  Jos6  Antonio 
Anllo.    It  was  the  one  thing  he  could  do.  dying, 

AnUonughthve  Even  now  she  was  praying, 
and  her  prayers  were  about  to  be  answ^S! 

That  you  shaU  never  reach  Premont-that 
you  shaU  die  before  sunrise."  she  haa  said.  So 
the  accursed  Indian  hag  had  spoken!  "She  who 
loves  you  shaU  pray  for  yov-  death  " 

The  tense  finger^  bent  again  in  a  tearing  motion. 
T^caine  from  the  foot  of  the  slope  the  voice  of 

i^lfT^^'^^u  ^^^"'  ^'  temptation  van- 
ished,  hurriedly  thrust  himself  backward  into  the 
mmost  comer  of  the  fissure.    Unconsciously  he 

« xT^^  ^®  P^P«^  to  Ws  doublet. 
Fire!" 

A  thundering  volley  blazed  out  at  the  foot  of 
the  hiU.  Carroll  heard  the  shaip  splatter  of  lead 
agamst  the  rock,  and  his  cheek  stung  as  a  buUet 
sent  a  spray  of  stone  dust  into  his  face 


AT  THE  DEVIL'S  ROCK 


your  lancef.  short     Stkh?,""*' *°«'*^"- ho'd 

^ow-  we-u  j:t  ht^::^  r*^  ««pi»ous 

;:Jesus  Maria,  wh^  ^,X%'^  "'  '*"^-- 
f«>m  the  entire  Cr^''"™°«*^^''°f'«n»r 

waiting  to  set  foot  itTcf-         ,.     ^^^  P^"^<^'  never 

ace  t<f  th^":::;"  S' '"'  ''"^'^  ""^^y- 
for'tt!;.:rs.rc:^Cf*  --•  ^^ 

was  silence  saU  for  Vhf^.  *  '^  "*"*=■  All 
riU  at  the  foot  ot^^^  ^  P''*"""^  °f  the 
Itself  frorthet^Tp  aS t;:^  *« 'o--" 
»^w  ledge  beneath,  loite^^  t^^^^f  *°  *!>« 

— h^r i^r^*  ^-^  t:c^~":;?st 

10^  adohepofte  j^^T'S""  ^'  «"' 
„         °t   ared    in   the  sheer   bravado    of 


tl 


JS,  THE  DONS  OF  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

thud  tumbW  down  th.  ::S  C  "■*'  '  "^'^ 
C^b«,t  over  t;.e  crumpled  figure  at  his  feet. 

heai^h"^""""  '*  ''°"'  A~  y°"  hurt?" 
r...!f^  ,    ""«*"  '^'Sht  hurriedly  with  the 

fastenmgs  of  the  black  mask 

J^LS'  Sir „»rs, ,. 

safe  fnend  CarroU-she  will  be  glad-teU  W^ 


AT  THE  DEVILS  ROCK 


died  on  the  m^  to^?r  ^  VJ"'^''  "">•    "H. 
"ded  in  thy  e^pj.  -    ^^    ''"»'  E««-^«a.  too, 

tH:^ttT„;^rthr;^''"-t°'''-  ^'- 

"eetine  "rithout  the  <w"°Wk^  "''"^  your 
'^.  I  heard  her  ^b^-fj^  '*,<>"„>»dst 
»«  eyes  olosed,  and  e«n^7    u    ^~ 

-,IJepa™xy»,;,4t^t':"n'""*=  *■-• 
I  knew  well  thou    wert  ^h-       . 

From  .he  pueblo  I  folZT^  S.t"ito    *^"^"- 
to  protect,  if  need  be-"       "^^'     *o  warn.— 

what  I  have  d^e-Tat  .^'°~u'"'^*  ^  ''o™ 
Tell  her-tell  h«-tw   ?*  "«'"  l*  haPPy. 

te---verdt--r?-i 
ttTore.''^-"-'''-f^:.t'n:^: 


384  THE  DCNS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

am  glad  to  die  for  her  as  our  martyrs  were  glad 
to  die  for  the  Holy  Paith.  Por  a  long  time  have 
I  known  it  had  to  be— that  the  end  of  my  days 
was  close  at  hand.  Par— far  better  it  is  so. 
Death  to  me  is  sweeter  far  than  life  would  be 
without  her.  Behind  the  rock  is  n..  orse.  Ride, 
ride!"  A  tremor  convi^lsed  his  frame.  His 
whispered  tones  became  childish  and  caressing. 

"Loreto,  mi  qucrida— laugh  for  joy— weep 
not  for  me.  Have  I  not  saved  thy  lover  ?  I^oreto 
—1  love— thee." 

The  blood  surged  again  to  his  lips,  his  head  fell 
to  one  side.  The  Black  Matedor  would  ride  no 
more.    Servolo  Pklera  was  dead. 

a^erwhelmed  by  the  revelation,  John  Carroll 
sat  like  a  man  of  stone.  Far  from  hii  thoughts 
were  the  dispatches,  the  Califomian  camp  but  a 
mile  away,  and  Vanuela  hurrying  to  Fremont  on 
his  mission  of  vengeance.  He  only  remembered 
that  he  was  gazing  down  into  the  sightless  eyes 
of  a  man  who  had  lov  d  with  a  love  that  passeth 
the  understanding  of  man,  a  mar  who  had 
twice  saved  his  life  and  at  the  end  giv  ri  his  own 
that  joy  and  love  should  be  the  portion  of  Loreto 
Arillo-  and  John  Carroll. 

The  lieutenant  sat  alone  in  the  moonlight,  the 
dead  man's  head  on  his  knee,  and  wept  like  a 
little  child.  Grotesquely  the  treet.  about  him 
seemed  to  assume  fantastic  shapes,  and  a  wolf  on 


AT  THE  DEVIL'S  KOCK  ,», 

*^tZ'T*'u''-  '^''"^ <*'•'"'',  howled dianaUy 
hi.  i^''  V  T"^  '^'  blood-stained  ta^!^ 

Z  ^«  •^1;"."  rr"'y  ''"^  '"e  star 
»£  eyes     On  the  dark,  handsome  face  of  the 
d«d  poet,  framed  in  its  flowing,  wavy  locto  wm 
•  teolc  of  unutterable  content 

W.th  one  last  backward  look  at  the  black 
dad  figure  on  the  narrow  ledge,  Carroll  clS^" 
the  ndge  and  found  Scrvolo's  horse,  stTC 
«th  droopmg  head,  patiently  awaiting  the  mum 

^1  l  ""^r"""  ■""'«'  "ho*  »»nd  on"u 
rein  .t  would  never  know  again 

Chice  in  the  saddle,  Carroir,  thought  reverted 
to  his  mission.  He  sighed  wearily.  V^^^e^ 
^iZ:/»  "^'^ "art: nothing bl  th^t  ! 
S2  p  "^a^^' ■'«>'  "'-W  prevent  him  from 

S^wh-vITT*  *".'•  """^  ''™«^«  bin.  do^ 
v.,  r^''"""'  °"  the  Califoraian  camp. 

t4t Ttialf  ™.  "*'■  1°°'  »  P°^*le  chance 

wav  tc^  "^^P*  ^'*"°"''^  f"«  °n  the 
way  to  make  a  iught  attack  on  the  Califomians 
Spurrmg  h.s  startled  and  sensitive  steed^H 
u„^  gaUop,  he  swung  away  to  the  wt^towLS 
the  Cahucnga  Pass  on  as  vrild  a  ride  as  the  honS 
of  war  ever  inspired.  "snotTOrs 


»S 


«'i 


TC^^W^ 


CHAPTER  XXXIV 

AN  HONORABLE  PEACE 

"  Y^S,  Seflor  Colrnel  Fremont,"  Hugo  Vanuela 
was  saying,  'you  can  capture  them  easily. 
They  are  but  twenty  mUes  distant  to  the  east 
at  the  San  Pasqual  Rancho  of  Don  Jos4  Antonio 
Arillo.  They  are  disheartened,  their  powder  ex- 
hausted, and  their  ranks  weakened  by  desertions 
A  quick  gallop  through  the  night  with  your  entire 
force,  and  you  can  end  the  war." 

Vanuela's  voice  was  eager,  his  eye  bright  with 
unconcealed  joy.  ^  The  hope  of  years,  the  planning 
of  many  months,  the  dream  of  his  Hfe,  was  ap- 
proaching triumphant  reaUzation.  The  fall  of  the 
house  of  Arillo  was  at  hand. 

The  two  men  were  alone  in  a  vaquero's  hut  at 
the  foot  of  the  Cahuenga  Pass.  Fremont  made 
no  reply;  he  was  studying  the  face  of  Vanuela. 
Ever  a  judge  of  men,  there  was  something  in  the 
Califomian's  personality  that  made  him  hesitate. 
Yet  there  was  no  good  reason  to  disbelieve  the 
stranger's  story;  for  more  than  once  during  his 
long  march  southward  from  Monterey  had  come 
to  the  Pathfinder's  ears  rumors  of  a  conflict  in 
which  the  Califomians  had  been  worsted. 

"Good,"  he  said  at  length.     "Senor  Vanuela 
you  yourself  shall  guide  us  to  the  camp  of  the 

386 


■^  "^^??^^'^ 


AN  HONORABLE  PEACE  387 

enemy.  You  wiU  ride  ahead  with  an  armed 
guard  on  either  side  of  you.  They  shaU  have 
orders  to  shoot  you  dead  at  the  first  sign  of  treach- 
ery. Somehow,  he  had  no  idea  of  Vanuela  re- 
sentmg  his  distrust. 

Fremont  s  piercing  eyes  were  fuU  on  Vanuela's 
face  but  he  could  find  no  sign  of  flinching  in  the 
Califorman's  steady  gaze. 

"That  is  weU,"  Hugo  answered  calmly.  "I  am 
satisfied." 

The  American  was  convinced. 
"The  necessary  orders  shaU  be  given  at  once." 
ile  called  aloud,  and  an  orderly  entered  the 
room. 

"Have  the  bugle  sound  'Boots  and  saddles  '" 
he  ordered.  "We  march  in  twenty  minutes'- 
all  but  ten  men,  who  will  remain  behind  to  guard 
the  baggagr."  *      " 

From  the  xiext  room  came  sounds  of  a  loud  alter- 
cation, and  Lieutenant  Jack  Carroll  burst  into  the 

crusted   ""  "''''  '"^^^^"'  ^^  '^^^^''y 

"Stop!"  He  held  up  his  hand  with  a  com- 
manding gesture. 

_'Who  are  you?"  Fremont  demanded  angrily, 
ilow  dare  you  countermand  my  orders?" 

"Lieutenant  John  Carroll  of  the  Marine  Corps" 
he  panted,  "now  of  StocUon's  volunteer  com- 
pany." "* 


388  THE  DONS  OF  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

A  flash  of  recollection  came  into  the  face  of  the 
Pathfinder. 

"Ah,  yes;  I  remember  you  now— in  the  pueblo 
last  summer.  You  remained  with  Captain  Gillie. 
You  were  there  when  the  revolt  broke  out.  But — '* 
"For  God's  sake,  colonel,"  interrupted  Carroll, 
"in  the  name  of  humanity,  wait — hear  me  before 
you  give  that  order." 

Vanuela's  deep  voice  broke  in.  "The  Senor 
Carroll  doubtless  carries  dispatches  from  Commo- 
dore Stockton.    Hence  his  haste  and  agitation." 

Hugo's  mind  had  come  to  a  swift  conclusion. 
In  no  other  way  could  be  explained  Carroll's 
presence  near  the  arroyo,  and  his  xmexpected 
appearance  here.  The  Califomian  was  smiling 
happily;  the  dispatches  once  in  Fremont's  hands, 
he  had  but  little  fear  of  the  outcome.  He  knew 
they  contained  the  death  warrant  of  the  Dons. 

Carroll's  eyes,  burning  with  bitter  hate,  were 
fastened  on  Vanuela. 

"There,  colonel,  stands  the  man  who  is  respon- 
sible for  every  drop  of  blood  shed  in  California," 
he  cried. 

"Have  you   dispatches  for  me?"   Fremont's 
voice  was  tinged  with  impatience. 
"Hear  me  first,  colonel — " 
"Lieutenant  Carroll,  hand  me  the  dispatches." 
There  was  no  mistaking  the  peremptory  tone. 
Fremont's  patience  was  at  a  breaking  point. 


AN  HONORABLE  PEACE  389 

For  a  moment  no  sound  could  be  heard  in  the 
room  but  Carroll's  hard-drawn  breath  as  he 
leaned  one  hand  against  the  waU,  an  expression 
of  utter  despair  on  his  drawn  face.  Reluctantly 
his  other  hand  reached  into  his  doublet 

Fremont  was  puzzled.  He  scrutinized  in  turn 
the  faces  of  the  two  men.  There  was  something 
here  beyond  his  understanding.  As  Carroll  placed 
the  papers  in  the  colonel's  hands.  Hugo  grinned 
gleefully  The  Gods  of  Chance  were  with  him; 
Dut  h.  frowned  uneasily  a  moment  later,  when 
Fremont  laid  the  missives  on  the  table  and  said 
quietly: 

"Lieutenant  Carroll.  I  will  hear  you  now." 

Th«i,  noticmg  the  waiting  orderly.  "You  may  pass 

without,  Lieutenant  McLane,  but  remain  within 

-Tir-M     ^^'^'  L^«"*«"ant  Carroll,  but  be  brief." 

Will  not  the  colonel  read  his  dispatches?" 

suggested  Vanuela. 

Silence ! ' '  snapped  Fremont. 
The  colonel's  keen  intuition  and  quick  sym- 
pathy a  part  of  his  GaUic  inheritance,  convinced 
hun  that  m  the  lieutenant's  tale  he  would  find  the 
explanation  of  the  curious  conduct  and  strange 
demeanor  of  the  two  men.  In  Carroll's  face  he 
had  noted  the  signs  of  intense  mental  suffering 
He  knew  him  as  a  capable  officer  and  an  honorable 
man;  of  the  other  he  knew  nothing,  save  that  he 
was  a  deserter  from  a  hopeless  cause. 


390    THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

"CoW  Fremont."  said   Carroll,   his  voice 
now  under  control,  "there  stands  the  man  who 
assisted  by  a  British  spy.  conceived  and  organized 
the  revolt  m  the  pueblo.    All  the  brave  fellows 
who  have  died  are  that  one  man's  victims." 
His  voice  broke  with  emotion.    "He  is  the  one." 
his  voice  nsmg  almost  to  a  scream  of  hate,  "who 
beg^  It  all.    He  has  been  a  traitor  to  both  sides- 
a  red-handed  murderer." 
yanuela;s  easy  smile  had  a  trace  of  contempt, 
l^or  Dios,  colonel.  I  cannot  dream  of  any 
reason  for  so  wild  a  charge  unless  it  be  that  the 
lieutenant  s  reverses  as  a  lover  have  inspired  in 
him  a  desire  to  injure  a  more  favored  rival.    You 
will  understand,  colonel,"  he  added,  as  he  leered 
insultingly  at  CarroU.    "We  both  admire  the 
same  lady.    The  lieutenant  is  vindictive  " 

Vanuela's  calm  assurance,  and  especially  his 
last  words,  maddened  the  lieutenant.  Sprinrine 
forward,  he  drove  his  fist  full  in  Hugo's  face  and! 
wild  with  uncontrollable  passion,  struck  him 
agam  and  again  in  the  mouth,  sending  him  in  a 
heap  agamst  the  wall.  The  Califomian.  spitting 
blood  and  teeth,  staggered  to  his  feet  and  drew 
his  sword.  He  stopped  suddenly;  he  was  staring 
mto  the  muzzle  of  a  pistol  in  the  hands  of  Colonel 
Fremont. 

"Swaseyl  Bryant!"   caUed   the  colonel,   now 
boihng  with  anger  at  a  brawl  in  his  presence. 


AN  HONORABLE  PEACE 


391 

ther^'^'  "^°'  "'^  "^  ^-^'  h-d  rushed  into 
"Cover  them   with  your  rifles     qfo«^  *i, 

"  mT^.  '..  "* ""'  '^°"''^'  ""^  «»1  ^d  deliberate 

rf  the  table,  the  pistol  still  i„  his  hand,  "welfe 
8omg  o  get  at  the  facts,  and  some  one  i  goto.  ^ 
suffer  for  this  disgraceful  scene  "  ^ 

tw?  *^  ?»'^'='«s  of  the  loaded  rifles  gapine  in 
the^  faces,  Carroll  and  Vanuela  stood  ^th  thdr 

witn  blood,  flowing  in  a  steady  stream  frn.r,  k- 
banered  mouth.     Carroll  was  ^hittr^-^^'g^ 

''Now,  lieutenant,  teU  your  story." 
That  man  there,  in  company  with  a  Rn>ici, 

m^e  pueblo  as  Almagro,  instigated  the  revo°™ 

"MacNamara!"  he  exclaimed.  'Thelrishn,»„ 
^  whom  Governor  Pico  made  the  td  ^„^ 
But  A«  was  a  priest."  ^ 

■'Never  a  Pnest-an  English  anny  officer." 

"thaTi;  t^f ^h:  ir^^i^r  '^'°"'^' 

xie  was  an  linglish  secret  agent, 


.if 


I  ■■'■ 


39a  THE  DONS  OP  TH^^  OLD  PUEBLO 

and  I  killed  him  when  I  discovered  his  plans. 
Here  are  his  papers  to  prove  it.  I  am  glad  the 
lieutenant  and  myself  have  one  point  on  which 
we  can  agree." 

Hugo  hai  never  intended,  in  spite  of  his  boasts 
to  Arillo,  to  deliver  the  Englishman's  documents 
to  Fremont.  The  forged  signatures  would  neces- 
sitate too  many  explanations.  But  the  unexpected 
condition  of  affairs  by  which  he  was  confronted 
had  forced  his  hand.  As  he  passed  the  blood- 
stained papers  to  the  colonel,  his  bleeding  mouth 
twisted  in  a  confident  smile. 

"Yes,"  retorted  Carroll,  "you  murdered  him 
in  cold  blood  after  you  had  taken  his  gold- 
worked  with  him  as  his  spy — led  him  on." 

"But  '"or  what— why— I  do  not  understand," 
Fremont  demanded. 

"For  a  personal  revenge  only — that  Don 
Jos6  Antonio  Arillo  might  be  led  to  break  his 
parole — that  he  might  die  on  the  scaffold.  This 
man  has  hated  Arillo  for  years.  He  is  a  half- 
breed  Indian,  whom  the  gente  de  razon  would 
never  recognize  as  their  equal.  For  years  they 
have  scorned  him,  as  they  scorned  his  father." 

"Colonel,"  said  Vanuela  pityingly,  "the  man 
merely  vents  his  personal  enmity  to  make  such  a 
charge  against  me.  Don  Jos6  Antonio  is  a  very 
good  friend  of  mine;  he — " 

"Shoot  him  where  he  stands  if  he  utters  another 


AN  HONORABLE  PEACE  393 

word.''  Fremont  said  to  the  guard  in  front  of 
Vanuela.  The  Pathfinder's  experienced  eye  had 
quickly  noted  the  confirmation  U  Ca- -oU's  words 
m  Hugo's  swarthy  face  and  high  cheek  bones. 

Ill  have  this  story  without  interruption," 
he  continued.  "Go  on.  lieutenant.  How  do  you 
know  all  this?    What  proof  have  you?" 

Like  some  Olympian  avenger.  Carroll  stood 
before  the  fast  paling  conspirator.  Link  by  link 
he  told  the  story  of  Vanuela's  machinations. 

Scorned  by  the  quality  of  the  pueblo,  ostra- 
azed  on  account  of  his  Indian  blood,  ever  vicious, 
with  the  vendetta  inherited  from  his  father,  it 
was  this  man  who  inspired  these  peaceful  people 
to   hopeless   revolt,    disaster,    and    death.    His 

1  ?n^^  *°  P^°^  *^^  revolution,  working 
with  MacNamara  and  using  his  gold  freely  among 
the  young,   hot-blooded  youth  of  the  pueblo 
Then  he  became  Captain  Gillie's  spy,  that  he 
might  also  use  him  to  gain  his  end— his  revenge 
on  AriUo.    Working  with   both  sides,   he  had 
wonderful  influence.    It  was  he  who  gave  to 
Gillie  a  list  of  alleged  conspirators  and  had  them 
dragged  to  prison  in  chains  because  of  a  boyish 
escapade  which  he  himself  had  inspired  with  his 
hquor  and  gold.    This  caused  the  first  deaths 
those  of  young  Reyes  and  old  Yorba. 

"The  Dons,  whose  humiliation  he  thus  accom- 
phshed,  are  men  of  the  highest  honor.    They  had 


r- 


'-i"i 


.,*• 


394  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

kept  the  terms  of  their  paroles  to  the  letter  until 
Captain  Gillie  himself  broke  its  one  unwritten 
condition,  that  their  persons  and  property  sliould 
be  respected —broke  it  by  dragging  them  from 
their  beds,  from  their  weeping  families,  and 
loading  them  with  chains.  This  is  no  time  for 
niceties.  With  all  due  respect  for  Captain  Gillie, 
who  will  bear  witness  to  the  truth  I  am  speaking, 
it  was  Vanuela's  hatred  of  the  Dons,  and  especially 
of  Arillo,  the  plotting  of  the  English  spy  Mac- 
Namara,  and  the  errors  of  the  captain  as  an 
administrator,  and  nothing  else,  that  have  caused 
and  continued  this  war." 

There  was  no  sound  in  the  little  room  but  the 
resonant  tones  of  Carroll,  high  pitched,  rever- 
berating from  wall  and  ceiling.  Premont  was 
intent  and  eager;  Vanuela,  contemptuous,  cynical, 
almost  debonair,  smiling  at  each  point  Carroll 
made  and  clinched  like  a  prosecutor  before  a 
court. 

The  guards,  forgetful  of  orders,  moved  by  the 
intensity  of  the  strange  scene,  allowed  their 
rifle  muzzles  to  sink  to  the  ground  as  they  blinked 
wonderingly  in  the  insufficient  light. 

"But  that  is  not  all.  Perhaps  the  exigencies 
of  war  might  excuse  him,  were  he  not  a  spy,  a 
miu-derer,  and  an  assassin.  From  his  own  lips 
have  I  heard  the  story  of  his  villainy.  On  my 
way  to  reach  you  I  ahnost  stumbled  on  the 


AN  HONORABLE  PEACE  395 

Califomian  camp,  and  took  refuge  in  the  branches 
of  a  great  tree.  I  saw  him  disarm  AriUo  and 
then  proceed  to  torture  him,  taunting  him  with 
his  own  helplessness— Arillo  was  tied  hand  and 
foot— and  boastingly  unfold  to  him  the  story  of 
the  success  that  would  soon  attend  his  planning 
of  months.  All  of  this  as  a  preliminary  to  as 
diaboUcal  and  cold-blooded  a  murder  as  man  made 
in  the  image  of  God  ever  premeditated.  His 
dagger  was  at  Arillo's  throat  when  I  fired  from 
the  tree.  Note  his  head.  Colonel,  where  the 
ball  grazed  the  scalp.  Oh,  that  it  had  gone 
truer!" 

Fremont  stepped  closer  to  Vanuela,  parted  with 
his  fingers  the  yellow  hair  over  his  ear.  His  face 
hardened  as  Carroll  further  detailed  the  cruel 
deliberation  of  Vanuela's  attempt  to  take  Arillo's 
life,  the  sudden  appearance  of  the  Califomians, 
and  the  escape  of  both  into  the  arroyo. 

"But  wait,"  commanded  the  lieutenant,  as 
Fremont's  face  gave  signs  of  his  feelings.  ' ' There 
IS  one  thing  more  you  must  know.  He  claims 
to  be  our  friend,  yet  but  for  him  the  pueblo 
would  have  been  peacefully  surrendered  to 
Stockton  last  October.  Arillo  was  ready,  Alvaro 
was  ready,  Cota  was  ready,  their  officers  were 
ready.  But  Vanuela,  traitor  to  both  sides 
anxious  only  for  the  success  of  his  own  damnable 
revenge,  prevented  it  by  a  forged  message  to  the 


396  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

man  who  was  to  give  the  signal  for  the  flag  of 
truce.  Benito  Willard  himself  will  testify  to  this. 
And  why?  Because  such  a  surrender  would 
permit  Arillo  to  live. 

"In  the  still  night  at  San  Gabriel  he  murdered 
the  Englishman  MacNamara- -stabbed  him  to 
death  because  he  had  no  further  vse  for  him,  and 
because  he  wished  to  see  the  Americans  victorious 
and  the  men  who  had  been  forced  by  the  pressure 
of  events  to  break  their  paroles  die— to  see 
Don  Jos6  Antonio  Arillo  die  a  felon's  death  on 
the  scaffold. 

"As  I  heard  him  boast  to  the  helpless  Arillo, 
he  comes  now  to  make  of  Fremont  the  same  dupe 
he  made  )f  MacNamara,  of  Flores,  of  Gillie,  of 
every  one  who  ever  listened  to  his  serpent  tongue. 
Of  you  he  hopes  to  make  a  tool  to  wreak  his 
vengeance  on  Arillo — " 
"Wait  a  moment." 

Fremont,  absorbed,  enthralled  by  the  burning 
words  of  CarroU,  words  that  came  flowing  from 
a  heart  for  months  laden  with  sorrow  and  appre- 
hension, had  forgotten  the  blood-stained  papers 
in  his  hands.     "Wait  till  I  look  at  these." 

Quickly  he  ran  his  eye  over  the  credentials  of  the 
secret  agent,  signed  by  a  member  of  the  British 
cabinet,  and  the  petition  to  the  British  admiral 
at  Monterey  with  its  long  list  of  Califomian  sig- 
natures, smeared  with  MacNamara's  blood. 


AN  HONORABLE  PEACE  397 

"It  all  confirms  your  tale,  lieutenant.  But 
these  signatures— if  they  be  genuine—  The 
man  seems  to  have  done  us  some  service." 

"Forgeries,  every  one  of  them.  He  fooled  the 
Englishman.  I  heard  him  admit  it  to  Arillo. 
He  played  traitor  to  MacNamara  even  as  he  be- 
trayed his  own  country.  True,  he  wished  us  to  be 
victorious,  but  only  that  Arillo  might  die.  God 
how  he  taunted  that  bound  and  helpless  man, 
insultmg  even  the  virtue  of  his  daughter,  tiU 
I  could  bear  it  no  longer,  and  I  fired  upon 
him."  *^ 

Fremont  glared  at  Vanuela.  Hugo  had  but 
one  card  left— his  bravado. 

"ShaU  I  not  be  heard?"  he  demanded,  in  spite 
of  the  threatening  muzzle  before  his  face. 

"You  shall,"  said  Fremont,  "at  your  trial,  and 
may  God  have  mercy  on  your  soul.  Guards, 
take  him  away." 

Before  Hugo  and  the  guards  reached  the  door, 
a  slight,  dark-bearded  Califomian  stepped  within 
the  room.  As  Vanuela  stared  at  him,  despair 
came  into  his  face. 

"Don  Jesus  Pico— alive!"  he  gasped.  His 
face  grew  suddenly  aged.  With  head  bent,  he 
followed  the  guard  out  the  door.  Hugo  Vanuela 's 
hop^  was  fast  oozing  away. 

At  Vanuela's  startled  words  CarroU's  heart 
bounded  with  joy.     Don  Jesus  Pico,  who  had 

28 


\   WMi  :t--^       ~'i\  .U-- 


MtHk 


398  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

broken  his  parole— Don  Jesus  Pico,  whom  Pre- 
mont  was  reported  to  have  court-nuutialed  and 
•hot  at  San  Luis  Obispo  weeks  ago,  stood  before 
him,  alive  and  well  I  Then  Premont  had  already 
shown  mercy.  Now  was  the  time  to  plead  for 
the  life  of  his  friends. 

"In  God's  name,  colonel,  have  mercy.  It  is 
true  you  can  easily  attack  and  capture  them. 
Such  an  action  woidd  make  of  them  prisoners  of 
war,  and  as  such,  subject  to  a  court-martial  for 
breaking  their  paroles,  a  court-martial  to  which 
there  could  be  but  one  result. 

"Colonel  Fremont,  spare  these  men  of  the 
pueblo!  These  gentle,  high-minded  Dons  are  not 
and  never  have  been  our  enemies.  We  have  driven 
them  to  war,  and  now  we  would  murder  them  for 
sins  that  never  were  theirs.  I  believe  they  are 
willing  to  surrender.  Grant  them  terms  that  tb-^v 
can  honorably  accept — terms  that  will  include 
forgiveness  for  the  broken  paroles." 

Again  he  held  Fremont's  eyes  captive  while  he 
vividly  pictured  events  in  the  pueblo  leading  up 
to  the  riot  at  the  gate, — the  burdensome  regula- 
tions laid  on  the  shoulders  of  a  free  people,  the 
harsh  rule  of  Gillie,  and  the  midnight  arrest  of  the 
Dons.  As  Gillie's  name  fell  again  from  his  lips, 
Fremont  nodded  comprehendingly. 

"A  brave  man,  a  good  soldier,  but  tactless — 
tactless.     But  wait  —  I   have   forgotten.     The 


AN  HONORABLE  PEACE  399 

commodore's  dispatches."  h-  udd.  as  he  turned 
to  the  table. 

As  he  peered  over  the  unfolded  papers,  hU 
brown  unshaven  face  darkened  with  displeasure, 
and  a  look  of  worriment  wrinkled  his  brows. 

Cwnmodore  Stockton's  instructions  are  plain 
enough,  he  sighed.  "Unconditional  surrwder 
of  their  armed  forces,  and  no  amnesty  to  be 

nJ^'^J*"'  t  '^^'  ^^  ^^  mentioned.  Plores. 
Anlb.  Garfias.  Alvaro.  Pico,  and  D«  la  Gueira  '' 

^  But  you  have  information."  persisted  CarroU, 
of  which  Commander  Stockton  never  dreamed 
In  the  light  of  my  evidence  and  your  own  deduct 
tions.  to  carry  out  Stockton's  instructions  and  to 
place  these  men  in  the  hands  of  a  court-martial  of 
his  and  Kearney's  men.  smarting  as  they  are  over 
the  defeats  at  Dominguez  and  San  Pascual.  would 
be  equivalent  to  their  unjustifiable  slaughter  " 

Fremont's  brow  puckered.  He  was  far  more  of 
a  scientist  than  a  soldier.  Never  a  stickler  for 
military  etiquette,  he  had  allowed  the  subordinate 
to  become,  as  it  were,  a  pleader  before  him 

"Colonel,"  persisted  Carroll,  "has  there  not 
been  blood  enough  already— bloodshed  that,  as 
^  we  now  know,  was  useless  and  unnecessary? 
tJoth  sides  have  made  mistakes." 

"In  the  days  to  come."  came  the  gentle  voice 
of  Don  Jesus  Pico,  strangely  convincing  and 
soothmg  after  CarroU's  impassioned  tones,  "shall 


J- : 


r».  C'JV."' 


400  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

the  historian  write  that  the  Americans  began 
their  rule  in  California  with  an  act  of  vengeance 
or  by  a  deed  of  mercy?  Shall  the  Calif omians  of 
the  future  love  or  hate  the  name  of  Premont? 
Think  well,  my  friend.  Thou  art  making  history 
now." 

There  was  a  dead  silence  in  the  room.  Fre- 
mont's leathern  face  showed  no  effect  of  his 
pleader's  arguments.  His  wonderful,  piercing 
eyes  were  veiled  in  thought  as  he  stared  fixedly  at 
the  floor,  and  nervously  twisted  a  strand  of  his 
ragged  beard.  Then,  raising  his  head,  he  said 
grimly  and  almost  aggressively: 

"I  do  not  know  what  my  superior  officer,  the 
commodore,  will  say;  I  do  not  know  what  the 
war  department  will  say;  I  do  not  know,  Don 
Jesus,  what  your  historian  will  say.  But  I  do 
know  what  I  am  going  to  do." 

He  paused;  the  two  men  hung  breathless  on 
his  words. 

"Don  Jesus,  ride  at  once  to  the  Calif omian 
camp  at  the  San  Pasqual  and  tell  them," — he 
smiled  quizzically  at  Pico — "tell  them  that  you 
are  still  alive,  and  that  they  need  have  no  fear 
of  me.    I  will  grant  them  an  honorable  peace." 


CHAPTER    XXXV 

AT  c.\utifi:ga  pass 

T  IGHTS  burned  'o\^ .  and  m(v\  spoke  in  subdued 
^^  whispers  in  inc  ranch  louse  of  the  San 
Pasqual. 

Don  Jos6  Antonio  Arillo,  still  weak  and 
unnerved,  his  cheek  bandaged,  lay  on  a  couch, 
while  about  him  gathered  the  Dons,  awed  by  his 
recital  of  Vanuela's  treachery  and  attempt  at 
cold-blooded  murder. 

Mercurial  of  temperament  even  in  timesof  peace, 
their  impulsive  hearts  sank  as  they  listened  to  the 
revered  Arillo,  whose  sturdy  frame  and  well-poised 
mind  had  been  to  them  a  tower  of  strength  in  the 
more  promising  stages  of  the  war.   . 

Not  only  amazed  were  they,  but  filled  with 
superstitious  fear.  It  was  Vanuela,  they  concluded, 
and  not  the  mysterious  American  who  had  sought 
refuge  at  the  Devil's  Rock,  where,  as  their  terror- 
stricken  men  had  told  them,  the  Black  Matador 
had  appeared  to  save  the  fugitive  from  vengeance. 
The  accursed  specter's  coming  was  ever  portentous 
of  disaster  and  death. 

As  for  the  imknown  American,  they  asstmied 
he  was  an  accomplice  of  Vanuela,  and  that  both 
were  now  well  on  their  way  to  the  pueblo.  The 
stranger's  identity  was  imknown  even  to  Arillo, 

26  401 


'<^• 


',f 


403  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 


who  had  lost  consciousness  the  moment  before  the 
pistol  shot  rang  out  from  the  oak.  Hugo's 
statement  to  Arillo  that  Fremont  was  but  a  few 
miles  distant,  they  believed  to  be  the  boastful 
braggadocio  of  the  moment.  Fremont's  cavalry 
battalion  had  last  been  heard  of  many  miles  to 
the  north.  That  he  could  have  reached  the  neigh- 
borhood of  the  pueblo,  over  mountain  passes, 
amid  the  inclement  weather  of  the  last  week,  was 
incredible. 

The  silence  was  broken  by  the  snap  of  Don 
Augustin's   snuffbox. 

"For  Dios,"  he  muttered,  "it  is  no  marvel 
that  Vanuela  escaped.  The  devil  loves  the  son 
as  well  as  he  did  the  father." 

Open  burst  the  door,  and  a  Califomian  rushed 
into  the  room.  His  fear-distorted  face  and  pant- 
ing words  brought  them  startled  to  their  feet. 

"God  and  his  angels!"  he  gasped,  faint  with 
terror.  "It  is  the  spirit  of  Don  Jesus  Pico  him- 
self!  I  saw  his  face — I  heard  his  voice!  He 
spoke  to  me  from  the  bushes  behind  the  hill — 
Don  Jesus,  who  has  been  dead  for  two  weeks." 

Instinctively  every  man  crossed  himself.  Horror 
upon  horror  was  being  thrust  upon  them.  Crushed 
by  disaster  and  defeat,  their  souls  darkened  by 
the  shadow  of  a  shameful  death,  dumbfoimded 
by  the  discovery  of  Vanuela's  villainy,  awed  by 
the  reported  apparition  of  the  Black  Matador — 


il 


AT  CAHUENGA  PASS  403 

to  them  it  seemed  but  the  fitting  culmination  of 
a  night  of  terror  that  the  spirit  of  the  dead  Don 
Jesus,  whom  aU  knew  and  loved,  should  come  to 
them  with  a  message  of  warning.  Not  a  man 
doubted.  The  lips  of  several  were  moving  in  a 
silent  appeal  for  protection  against  the  powers  of 
the  unseen  world  with  which  .he  night  seemed 
filled.  Their  brave  hearts,  for  which  the  deadly 
roar  of  battle  had  no  terror,  were  shaken  with  the 
crawling  fear  of  the  unknown. 

Don  Andreas  was  the  first  to  recover. 

"Dead  or  Uving,"  he  said  courageously,  "my 
cousm  Tortoi  will  not  harm  me.  I  myself  will 
go  to  meet  him,"  he  added,  as  he  took  his  sword 
belt  from  a  peg  on  the  wall. 

As  he  stepped  toward  the  open  door  an  uncertain 
figure  loomed  fi-k  against  the  square  of  starlit 
sky.  Wrappe. .  .■  l  gray  serape,  the  face  shad- 
owed by  the  b  .^  brim  of  a  sombrero,  in  the 
wavering  light  of  the  flickering  candle  flames  the 
form  seemed  dim  and  spectral. 

Not  for  a  moment  did  Don  Andreas  hesitate. 
Meetmg  the  newcomer  halfway,  he  extended  his 
hand  and  said  in  a  voice  vibrating  with  emotion: 

"Jesus— Tortoi— my  cousin,  is  it  thou ?  D'^ad 
or  living,  speak!  Hast  thou  a  message  for 
me?" 

Don  Jesus  glanced  slowly  around  the  shadowed 
room.    He  noted  the  awed  faces  of  the  Dons, 


#i 


404  THE  DONS  OF  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

their  expectant,  half-crouching  attitudes.  Re- 
moving his  sombrero,  he  cast  it  on  the  table  and 
smiled  at  them  reassuringly. 

"Siu-ely  am  I  alive,  caballeros — very  much 
alive,  thanks  be  to  the  Holy  Mother.  Yet,  as  thou 
sayest,  Andreas,  it  is  so;  I  have  indeed  a  message 
for  thee,  cousin,  a  message  for  all  of  you." 

Around  him  they  pressed,  touching  his  face, 
feeling  of  his  garments,  grasping  his  hands  as  if 
to  assure  themselves  of  the  truth  of  his  words  and 
the  testimony  of  their  own  senses.  Don  Andreas, 
with  a  choking  sob  of  gladness,  enfolded  his 
cousin  in  his  arms,and  kissed  him  demonstratively. 

"Hearken,  friends,"  said  Don  Jesus,  when  they 
had  recovered  from  their  surprise.  "I  bring  you 
a  message  of  good  cheer.  Colonel  Fremont  with 
his  'Bears'  is  but  twenty  miles  away,  near  the 
Cahuenga  Pass.  He  it  was  who  saved  me  from 
death — pardoned  me  when  I  had  been  condemned 
to  death  by  a  court-martial  at  San  Luis  Obispo. 
He,  Fremont,  bids  me  say  to  you  that  he  is  ready 
to  grant  you  an  honorable  peace — a  peace 
which  shall  wipe  ouo  all  the  mistakes  and  errors 
of  the  past." 

As  the  first  rays  of  the  rising  sun  drives  the 
gloom  of  night  from  darkened  plain  and  forest, 
so  did  the  unexpected  words  of  Don  Jesus  bring 
sudden  joy  and  gladness  to  the  haggard  coim- 
tenances  of  the  condemned  men.    For  a  space  no 


AT  CAHUENGA  PASS  405 

man  spoke;    they  were   gazing  at  him  almost 
mcredulously. 

The  princely  head  of  Don  Jos6  Antonio  had 
dropped  to  his  breast,  and  his  lips  were  trembling 
in  a  silent  prayer  of  thanksgiving.    Don  Augus- 

snuflbox.  his  face  impassive  save  for  a  grim  look 

Tn  '  w?f  u":,  .^"^  ^^'  ^^"«^^^S'  *«  «id  little 
laugh  that  had  m  it  an  hysterical  note.    Cota's 

face  was  m  his  hands,  his  shoulders  moving  trem- 
ulously De  la  Guerra,  as  he  leaned  back  against 
tne  v/all,  tappeu  his  finger  ends  together  and 
muttered:    'Tor  Dios-por  Dios-j^r  D^r 

Then  as  the  full  import  of  the  words  of  Don 
Jesus  penetrated  their  sorrow-laden  souls,  th^y 
broke  out  into  a  chorus  of  exclamations.  The 
mighty  strain  was  ended.  But  Flores  and  Ga-fias 
sat  unmoved;  they  had  no  confidence  in  the  prom- 

cIlifomfa''"°''''  ^"""^  ^'"^'  ^^^^  '"  '^"^^^  ^" 

"No,"  said  the  commandant  stubbornly    "I 

do  not  trust  the  word  of  Fremont  any  more  Uian 

PpH  n  Sf '■  ^  .^^^^"^^^^  t^«  c^-inon  at  San 
Pedro.  The  promises  of  such  land  pirates  are 
but  as  the  marks  on  the  sands  of  the  seashore. 
1  ou  may  go,  if  you  will.     I  recall  the  old  proverb, 

'El  pez  que  busca  el  anzuelo 
Busca  su  duelo.'  i 

»"The  fish  that  seeks  the  hook  seeks  its  death." 


4o6  THE  DONS  OF  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 


I  shall  start  for  Mexico  while  yet  there  is  time. 
But,"  he  continued,  "I  will  appoint  Don  Andreas 
here  commandant.  He  may  consummate  the  sur- 
render if  he  will.  On  that  shameful  paper  future 
generations  shall  never  read  the  name  of  Don 
Jos6  Maria  Flores.  Who  rides  with  me?  The 
road  is  open;  we  can  escape." 

"I  will,"  said  Garfias. 

As  they  passed  without  the  door  Don  Jos6 
Antonio  silently  drew  his  sword,  and  cast  away 
the  scabbard.     His  eyes  were  resting  on  Flores. 

"Pardon,  Don  Jos6  Maria.  There  is  a  score 
you  must  first  Settle  with  me."  In  Arillo's 
voice  there  was  neither  anger  nor  bitterness,  but 
the  inflexible  sternness  of  an  upright  judge. 

Flores  started.  "The  boy,  then — is — dead?" 
he  queried. 

Don  Jose  Antonio  nodded. 

Sighing  regretfully,  Don  Jos6  Maria  bared  his 
blade.  As  the  clang  of  steel  came  to  Don  Jesus, 
standing  a  few  feet  away,  he  rushed  to  them  and 
struck  up  their  weapons  with  his  own. 

"God  and  his  angels ! "  he  cried.  ' '  What  means 
this?" 

Briefly  Arillo  told  him  the  story  of  Jos6's  mis- 
sion and  added : 

"And  now  the  boy  is  dead — shot  as  a  spy.  He 
— he,"  the  Don  could  not  bring  himself  to  utter 
Vanuela*s  name,  "told  me  of  it  last  night." 


AT  CAHUENGA  PASS  407 

"He  lied,  the  accursed  son  of  Satan,  he  lied'" 
cned  Don  Jesus.  "The  boy  lives,  and  is  free—in 
the  camp  of  Fremont.  I  spoke  with  him  but 
yesterday." 

Flores,  greatly  relieved,  and  Arillo,  gladness 
showing  m  his  face,  gravely  clasped  hands. 

Before  the  eastern  sky  was  white  with  coming 
day,  Flores,  Garfias,  and  a  dozen  others  of  the 
Califomian  officers  were  galloping  eastward  to- 
ward the  San  Gorgonio  Pass,  en  route  to  Mexico 
while  Don  Andreas  Pico.  Arillo,  Rico,  Cota,' 
De  la  Guerra,  and  Alvaro,  accompanied  by  Don 
Jesus,  were  hurrying  westward  toward  the 
Cahuenga  Pass. 

It  was  broad  daylight  ere  they  halted  and  dis- 
mounted at  the  door  of  the  vaquero's  hut  where 
Fremont  had  established  temporary  headquarters. 
Their  mien  was  a  strange  mixture  of  the  anxiety 
of  the  moment  and  the  habitual  dignity  of  their 
race  as  they  filed  silently  into  the  bare  little  room 
where  sat  Colonel  Fremont  and  Lieutenant  John 
Carroll.  At  their  entrance  the  Pathfinder  rose  to 
his  feet  and  greeted  them  with  a  cordiality  that 
brought  smiles  of  relief  to  their  worried  faces. 

"We  feel,"  said  Don  Andreas,  after  he  had 
told  of  the  flight  of  Flores  and  his  own  appoint- 
ment as  commandant,  "that  we  have  done  all 
that  men  can  do."  There  was  sad  resignation 
but  no  humiliation  in  his  bearing. 


is:nzajF 


'i^ 


4o8  THE  DONS  OF  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

"It  is  both  a  pleasure  and  a  duty  to  grant 
generous  terms  to  men  who  have  fought  so  bravely 
for  their  native  land,"  Fremont  responded  gravely. 
Silently  the  Dons  bowed  in  recognition  of  his 
complimentary  words. 

Pacing  in  his  quick,  nervous  way  up  and  down 
the  little  room,  Fremont  dictated  the  terms  of  the 
treaty,  turning  every  now  and  then  to  the  Dons, 
who  nodded  their  consent  at  the  end  of  each 
clause. 

The  Califomians  were  to  surrender  all  their 
public  arms  and  ammimition;  they  were  to  be 
permitted  to  depart  peacefully  to  their  homes; 
each  should  have  the  privilege  of  becoming  a 
citizen  of  the  United  States  or  of  retaining  his 
Mexican  citizenship. 

He  paused  abruptly;  for  a  space  his  eyes  sought 
the  floor.  The  Dons  moved  uneasily;  no  word 
liad  been  said  of  the  broken  paroles.  They  had 
trusted  the  American;  they  were  here  in  his  armed 
camp,  in  his  power.  Could  it  be  possible,  that, 
as  Flores  had  warned  them,  they  had  but  been 
lured  to  their  death?  Had  Don  Jesus  himself 
been  deceived?  Was  it  not  this  very  man,  who 
now  held  their  lives  in  the  hollow  of  his  hand — 
was  it  not  at  his  orders  that  Scout  Carson  and 
his  Indians  had  shot  to  death  the  unarmed 
Berryessa  boys?  Their  paling  faces  showed  they 
feared  the  worst. 


AT  CAHUENGA  PASS 


409 

Fremont's    brilliant    eyes    again    swept    their 

Sf  latil'^  ^^'^^  "-  ^"^-«  ^^^  ^-ument  at 

"Write  this,  lieutenant,"  he  said:  "  'The  com- 
miss^oners.  on  the  part  of  Lieutenant  ColTel 
Fremont,  agree  and  bind  themselves,  on  the  ful- 
thaTll;'^  other  articles  by  the  Califomians. 
nroL.  T  .'^^"  ^  guaranteed  liberty  and 

protection  whether  on  parole  or  otherwise.-' 

And  this,"  he  added,  after  a  moment's  pause: 

citfzens    fo"  "'  *''  ''"^^'°"^^^"  ^^y'  -^^^her 
citizens,  foreigners,  or  others,  shall  receive  the 

protection  guaranteed  by  this  article  ' " 

Slowly  John  Carroll   traced  the  words     His 

hand  trembled,  and  the  letters  forming  tnefth 

his  pen  quivered  through  the  mist  that  gathered 

before  his  sight.     Don  Jos6  Antonio's  eyes  w^r^ 

gazing  at  hmi  the  .ecorder  of  his  life  warranl 

At  last,  at  last,  the  nightmare  of  months  was 

gone   never  to  return.    As  the  lieutenant  drew 

^JTw        "T'  ""^  ^''  ""^°*^°"'  ^he  colonel 
gazed  at  him,  and  smiled  knowingly 

m.n  !!k  ^^^  ^"f^l  °^^"  ^^  ^^^^  solemnity  of 
men  who  realized  that  their  native  land,  the  fairest 

hands  of  their  race  to  the  rule  of  the  stranger 


410    THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

that  they  were  participants  in  an  event  that 
would  effect  the  lives  of  millions  yet  unborn,  the 
Dons  stepped  forward  one  by  one  and  gravely 
afiSxed  their  signatures  to  the  document.  As  the 
last  man  laid  down  the  pen,  the  impressive  silence 
gave  way  to  a  hum  of  felicitations  on  the  advent 
of  peace. 

The  fate  of  California  was  decided. 

"May  the  good  God   give  your  people  the 

isdom  to  rule  wisely  and  well,"  said  Don  Jos6 
Antonio,  as  he  pressed  Premont's  hand. 

"Amen,  I  say  to  that,  with  all  my  heart," 
returned  the  Amferican. 

Without  eithei  having  spoken,  Don  Jos6  An- 
tonio Arillo  and  Lieutenant  John  Carroll  together 
sought  the  glory  of  the  sunlit  morning  Around 
them  the  land,  from  which  the  scourge  of  war  had 
been  lifted,  smiled  in  all  its  wondrous  beauty  of  far- 
flung  mesa  and  azure  motmtains.  Beneath  a  sky 
of  arching  blue,  the  larks  were  rising  from  the 
lush  green  meadows,  trilling  their  cheerful  song 
in  sympathy  with  the  joy-filled  hearts  of  the  two 
men,  as  with  clasped  hands  they  stood  gazing 
into  each  other's  eyes.  Por  a  space  neither  spoke ; 
it  was  a  moment  too  sacred  for  words. 

Arillo  was  the  first  to  break  the  silence. 

"It  was  thou,  Juan," — it  was  the  first  time  he 
had  ever  used  the  familiar  form  of  address  or 
called  the  lieutenant  by  his  first  name, — "it  was 


AT  CAHUENGA  PASS  41, 

thou  who  fired  the  shot  at  the  oak  last  night.    Don 
Jesus  has  told  me  all." 

CarroU  told  him  the  tale— his  fight  with  Vanuela, 
the  arrival  of  the  horsemen,  the  wild  dash  up  the 
arroyo,  his  narrow  escape  at  the  Devil's  Rock,  the 
appearance  of  the  Black  Matador,  and  the  death 
of  Palera. 

"Servolo— Servolo— was—the  Black  Matador 
— Ser\^olo  dead.  Jesus  Maria!"  exclaimed  the 
Don,  aghast.  "Poor  lad— poor  lad  I  All  Cali- 
fornia loved  him." 

As  the  lieutenant,  continuing,  told  of  his  own 
wild  ride  through  the  night,  of  his  horse  dropping 
dead  of  exhaustion  at  Fremont's  door,  the  scene 
in  the  Pathfinder's  presence,  the  discomfiture  and 
imprisonment  of  Vanuela,  there  was  open  admira- 
tion in  Arillo's  full-orbed  gaze.  Laying  his  hand 
on  Carroll's  shoulder,  he  said  reverently: 

Ah,  my  friend  Juan,  God  is  good.  Above  all 
he  is  good  to  me— in  giving  to  me  such  a  son," 
he  added  meaningly. 

Hurrying  footsteps  behind  them  caused  the  Don 
to  turn  his  head.  A  young  man,  breathless  and 
excited,  was  running  toward  them.  It  was  Jos6. 
Lieutenant  Somers  strode  along  a  few  feet  behind 
him. 

The  boy  threw  himself  upon  Arillo,  his  face 
radiant  with  joy. 
"Father,  father,"  he  panted,  "thou  art  well 


41  a  THF  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

and  safe,  and  I — I — I  have  found  my  father — my 
real  father.  This,"  he  babbled,  turning  to  Somers, 
"this  is  my  father— -Don  Jos6  Antonio  Arillo." 
Then  as  his  glad  gaze  turned  again  to  Somers, 
"This  is  my  father." 

Half  hysterical  with  happiness,  half  amused  by 
the  confusion  of  his  '^wn  disjointed  words,  the 
boy  threw  back  his  ruddy  head  and  laughed  in  the 
sheer  exuberance  of  happiness. 

The  sound  of  creaking  wheels  and  shuffling 
hoofs  came  to  them  from  up  the  pass.  The  Cali- 
fomians  were  marching  into  camp.  With  down- 
cast mien  and  averted  eyes,  the  column  of  horse 
moved  slowly  on  imtil  in  front  of  the  colonel's 
headquarters.  Lieutenant  McLane,  Fremont's 
aide,  stepped  forward  to  receive  the  arms. 

"Two  cannon,"  he  said,  as  he  made  a  note  on 
a  slip  of  paper  in  his  hand. 

"Yes,  seflor,"  drawled  Don  Andreas,  who, 
seated  on  his  horse,  was  assisting  in  the  details 
of  the  siurender.  "That,  seflor,  is  the  cannon 
your  General  Kearney  presented  us  with  at  San 
Pascual.  He  was  as  loath  to  part  with  it  then  as 
we  are  now." 

McLane  grinned  good  nattu-edly. 

"Now  your  powder,  Don  Andreas." 

A  Califomian  stepped  his  horse  out  of  the 
ranks  and  handed  to  the  American  a  small  bundle 
tied  up  in  a  red  handkerchief. 


AT  CAHUENGA  PASS 


413 

"The  powder,  seftor." 

anf  j^o/'l'T"'P'  """«•"  ^'^l"'  of  the  green 

proudraCiuf s"o:r:Sr  r„a'r' 

acr<^  the  pommel  of  Cota's  sadl  ""^  '"'"« 

^Your  colors,  seflor."  he  said  «>'urteously  but 

falfwfl  ''\'""'«J  head.  Cota's  tears  were 

mlrK^  .1  ^^  '^«'  "-rough  all  these  wearv 
months     the  flag  that  had  seen  the  Tacls  rf 

a^:^the  h^  "  u^""""^^''  ^hat  had  tved 
above  the  blood-soaked  field  of  San  Pascual  »„H 
the  ™jd  charges  at  the  river  and  the  m^  LtSf 

Xe::rs'"""  °°"  "^  *° '-« -"^^^  ^ 

Slowly   Francisco   raised   the   staff   fmt^   i,- 
P«^  While  his  shoulders  shooltn^vety 
^  before  he  handed  it  to  the  American,  who 
stood^wmtrng  patiently,  his  own  eyes  mrt  X 


.i.V 


414  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

sympathy,  Cota  lifted  a  comer  of  its  silken  folds  and 
pressed  it  to  his  lips  with  almost  religious  reverence. 
The  curtain  had  fallen  on  the  last  scene  in  the 
conquest  of  California. 


Farther  up  the  pass,  from  behind  the  flap  of  a 
tent,  Hugo  Vanuela  gazed  down  the  roadway. 
A  few  feet  away  stood  a  guard,  leaning  on  his 
rifle.  Hugo  had  been  noting  the  signs  of  sup- 
pressed excitement  in  the  camp. 

"Have  the  Califomians  surrendered?"  he  asked 
the  American. 

"Yes,  senor,"  returned  the  American.  It  was 
the  frontiersman  Who  had  witnessed  the  scene  in 
Fremont's  presence,  and  his  dislike  of  Vanuela 
was  plainly  apparent  in  his  thin,  keen  face. 

"And  there  ain't  going  to  be  no  one  hanged, 
eithCT,  seflor.  The  colonel  just  up  and  pardoned 
them  all,"  he  added,  as  he  gazed  into  Vanuela's 
clouded  countenance. 

"But  Commodore  Stockton — he — " 

The  frontiersman  stopped  in  the  middle  of  his 
short  beat  in  front  of  the  prisoner's  tent  and  stared 
at  him  contemptuously. 

"Stockton — hell!"  he  snorted  truculently. 
"The  colonel  has  a  hundred  more  men  than  Stock- 
ton. We'd  chase  Stockton  and  his  fool  sailors 
into  the  sea,  if  Fremont  gave  the  word.  You 
don't  seem  to  like  the  news  none,  sefior." 


AT  CAHUENGA  PASS 


415 
Uo  tt.'^  X*^^"  °f  "«"<=«»  to  last  words. 

Tos*  w JiL    •    ■*°**»"°'  Jus  hand  in  that  of 
Josi.  was  l«temng  gravely  to  the  boy  s  flowing 

^    B^^-l  them  walked  CarroU  and  So.^^ 

Jo2°  ^"±1'  r  ^-  *"  '^e  laugh  of 
Sn  !i    ?T    ^  "^PPioess  in   the  face  of 
^li„  ,'  ^-.tri-^Phant  bearing  of  Car^U. 
„„  °°?  JT'  ^™'"  •»«  ""ttered  bitter^-^ie 
young  fool  J0S6  alive,-AriIlo  free  and^iinf" 

the  M^  °f  I^  was  biting  his  bruisedTf  fin 

cam.  In  his  eyes  was  a  fiendish  glare  Hi.hJl 
corrugated,  and  the  hnes  of  hif^  S^^ 
mto  an  expression  of  .  ter  despair  °^^P^^ 

ArSo^^LtTHe'^h''''  "^^  °^  "°"«-' 
fo^-  .  ■^^'  ^iniself,  was  a   prisoner 

feong^vestigation  of  his  connecti^oT^rh 
MacNamara  -an  investigation  that  could  have 
^e^sul,  a  trial  for  the  murder  of  the  E^^ 

Vaiuela  sank  upon  a  roU  of  blankets  and  hid 

^t^w'~"''^^*°*'-  His  soul  was  shakei 
not  with  fear  or  remorse,  for  of  either  the  nS 
^  mcapable,  but  with  the  bitterness  0^0^ 
mg  disappomtment.    Yet  in  the  frontiers^s 


4i6  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

contemptttous  reference  to  Stockton  was  a  ray  of 
hope.  It  must  be  that  Premont  had  decided  to 
defy  Stockton.  His  ignoring  the  commodore's 
orders  implied  as  much.  There  would  probably 
be  civil  war  between  them,  as  there  had  been  in 
the  past  between  the  rulers  of  California.  That 
would  indeed  be  his  opportunity.  Stockton 
would  welcome  his  aid,  and  it  would  be  strange 
indeed  if,  during  the  turmoil  of  civil  strife,  he 
could  not  find  an  opporttmity  to  wreak  his  long- 
sought  vengeance  on  Arillo. 

Quickly  he  mapped  out  a  course  of  action.  He 
must  lose  no  opporttmity  to  escape.  That  ac- 
complished, he  would  seek  Stockton  and  join  his 
forces.  If  he  met  death  in  the  effort  to  win  free- 
dom, so  be  it.  Even  that  was  better  than  his 
own  humiliation  before  the  gente  de  razon. 

"The  colonel  wishes  the  ijrisoner  brought  to 
his  headquarters,"  called  one  of  Fremont's  staff 
as  he  cantered  past. 

As  Vanuela,  accompanied  by  the  frontiersman, 
walked  down  the  slope  toward  the  roadway  he 
shot  a  covert  sidewise  glance  at  the  long  hunting 
knife  in  the  guide's  belt,  ahnost  within  reach  of 
his  hand.  He  smiled  grimly  and  his  eye  bright- 
ened as  he  noted,  a  few  yards  down  the  trail,  a 
group  of  tmtethered  horses. 

The  two  strode  on.  Hardly  twenty  feet  away 
were  they  when  Arillo's  happy  laugh  rang  out. 


<  1 


AT  CAHUENGA  PASS 


417 


As  it  reached  Hugo's  ears,  his  eyes  took  on  the 
dangerous  glitter  of  a  wild  beast  at  bay,  and  his 
face  convulsed  in  insensate  fury.  In  a  twinkling 
he  had  forgotten  his  hope  of  escape;  he  saw  before 
him  only  the  enemy  of  a  lifetime,  laughing  in 
happy  abandon. 

With  lightning-like  quickness,  Vanuela  snatched 
the  knife  from  the  belt  of  the  guard,  broke  away 
from  him,  and  rushed  toward  Arillo.  For  an 
instant  the  frontiersman  hesitated,  and  then  his 
rifle  snapped  like  the  crack  of  a  whip.  Don  Jps6 
Antonio,  startled  by  the  report,  turned  his  head 
to  see  Vanuela  tumbling  forward  on  his  face. 

Only  a  moment,  however,  and  Hugo  was  again 
on  his  feet,  struggling  and  staggering  toward 
Arillo,  the  blood  gushing  from  his  neck,  the  up- 
lifted blade  in  his  hand,  his  face  contorted  in 
maniacal  fury.  More  quickly  than  Carroll,  who 
had  drawn  his  sword,  could  spring  forward  to 
meet  him,  another  rifle  spoke  from  up  the  pa.ss. 
Vanuela  reeled,  lurched  another  step,  and  as  the 
knife  dropped  from  his  nerveless  hand  he  col- 
lapsed  in  a  crumpled  heap  at  the  feet  of  Don 
Jos6  Antonio. 

Jim  Marshall,  his  smoking  rifle  in  his  hand, 
came  whirling  down  the  trail. 

"Jehosophat,  I  sure  got  him  across  the  sights 
after  all!"  he  cried,  as  he  gazed  down  from  his 
saddle  at  the  bleeding  form  on  the  groimd, 

27 


4i8    THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

Even  with  the  cold  hand  of  death  heavy  upon 
him,  the  indonutable  spirit  of  the  son  of  Leo  was 
manifest.  Raising  himself  slightly  on  one  hand, 
his  clouding  eyes  filled  with  unconquerable  hate 
fixed  full  on  Arillo,  he  gasped  out  a  foul  oath. 
Then  his  face  contorted,  his  body  writhed,  and 
he  sank  prone  on  the  grass. 
The  feud  was  ended.  Hugo  Vanuela  was  dead. 
Marshall  had  not  dismotmted.  He  sat  in  his 
saddle,  looking  down  at  the  motionless  form  of 
Vanuela. 

"I  never  did  count  shootin'  Indians  as  regular 
killm',  nohow,"  was  his  muttered  comment. 

"Good-by,  lieutenant,"  he  said,  as  he  reached 
down  his  hand  to  Carroll.  "Must  be  goin' — 
can't  stop — carryin'  papers  for  the  commodore 
to  Monterey." 

He  hesitated  for  a  moment,  a  quizzical  expres- 
sion in  the  look  he  bent  on  the  lieutenant.  Then 
with  a  farewell  wave  of  his  hand,  he  galloped  away 
across  the  plains. 

At  the  sound  of  firing,  armed  men  came  rushing 
from  all  parts  of  the  camp.  Premont  himself, 
hatless  and  excited,  came  galloping  up.  He  gazed 
for  a  moment  at  the  twisted  figure  on  the  blood- 
stained grass. 
"It  is  as  well,"  he  muttered,  as  he  turned  away. 
Arillo  and  his  friends,  dazed  by  the  sudden 
snuflBng  out   of  a  human  life,  stood  in  awed 


AT  CAHUENGA  PASS 


419 

in,'3'  ?.^°'"  '^''  *^^"-     "O"  horses  are 
mpatiCTt  to  carry  us  to  the  weeping  women  in 

the  pueblo  who  love-you."  he  adde/cautio^  " 

But  m  the  eyes  of  Don  Jos*  Antonio  Arillo  was 

a  far-away  hght,  such  as  shone  eighteen  centuries 

^„^     »'"'  ''^  **"*t  a  new  philosophy  to 

mankmd.     Brave  in  war,  stem  in  anger   pfoud 

"^,f-  y^,*  «'"  '^-"'Jy  °f  heart,  the  D^  iwed 

Ay  de  ti,    he  sighed,  "he  died  unshriven  " 

thp^w"""""^, ''''  '°"'"'="  "^  '°°''ed  down  at 
the  stiffenuig  form  of  his  enemy 

a  '^r  nf  I?  tr-,"  ''"  »"™-'««i.  as  he  lifted 
a  «)rner  of  the  blanket,  "how  Kke  to  his  father 
he  loote  as  he  lies  there.  Ah,  Juan,  life  and  d^att 
axe  ahke  strange,  mysterious,  and  incomprehen 

IS  a  God  who  js  aU-wise  and  aU-mereiful,  even 
we  may  hope,  to  such  as  he."  ' 

He  fumbled  for  a  moment  in  his  garments 

to  Ws  r"""?"""^  ■»  '"^g^-  "e  drop^ 
to  has  knees  and  crossed  himself.    His  Hps  moved 

s^  a^^'""^^'""*  ''^^  ^^     CaJ:u 
scared  at  hiin  in  awed  wonder. 

Don  Jos6  Antonio  Arillo  was  praying  for  the 
mercy  of  God  on  the  soul  of  Hugo  V^ueS^ 


CHAPTER    XXXVI 

THE  PASSING  OP  THE  SHADOW 

"  Have  mercy  on  them. 
Have  mercy  on  them. 
Have  meccy  on  them." 

TEARFULLY  and  tragically,  and  with  funereal 
monotony,  the  wives  and  sisters,  the  mothers 
and  cousins,  the  kinsfolk  and  friends  of  the  Dons, 
kneeling  within  the  closely  shuttered  home  of  the 
Arillos,  gave  in  doleiul  cadence  their  responses  to 
the  litany  for  the  dead. 

Heroic  in  her  grief,  Sefiora  Arillo  read  from  the 
much-thumbed  prayer  book  by  the  light  of  a 
wavering  candle  flame,  and  the  kneeling  assem- 
blage in  response  sent  up  their  repeated  suppli- 
cations for  the  souls  of  the  departed  men. 

According  to  a  rumor  which  several  hours  before 
had  reached  the  pueblo,  the  Dons  of  the  army  of 
Flores,  captured  by  Fremont,  tried  by  a  drum- 
head court-martial,  and  stmimarily  executed, 
had  paid  the  penalty  for  their  broken  paroles. 
The  circumstantial  and  apparently  authentic 
report  had  originated  with  an  Indian  peon 
who,  the  night  before,  while  searching  for  his 
horses,  had  stumbled  on  the  American  camp, 
where  he  had  been  detained  as  a  suspicious 

430 


THE  PASSING  OF  THE  SHADOW 


431 


person.  He  had  been  released  in  the  morning, 
but  not  before  he  had  seen  at  a  distance  the  fam- 
iliar figures  of  the  Dons,  and  later  had  heard  the 
shots  that  ended  the  existence  of  Hugo  Vanuela. 
A  mischievously  mendacious  frontiersman  who 
assured  him  in  very  bad  Spanish  that  they  were 
"shooting  a  dozen  prisoners  over  there,"  completed 
the  delusion.  In  the  pueblo  his  tale,  chiming  as 
it  did  with  their  fears  for  the  last  two  months, 
met  with  instant  credence.  Manuel  and  Mariano 
had  akeady  set  out  for  the  Cahuenga  Pass  with 
a  carreta  for  the  purpose  of  bringing  home  the 
bodies. 

Dulled  by  a  grief  too  great  for  comprehension, 
Loreto  Arillo's  eyes  looked  blankly  into  the  gloom 
before  her.  Her  lips  answered  mechanically  in 
unison  with  the  others,  but  there  was  no  fervor 
in  her  devotion,  and  not  even  despair  marked 
her  low  responses.  Delfina  sobbed  between  her 
hysterical  words,  and  the  others  mingled  lamen- 
tations with  their  prayers.  But  now  was  the 
time  when  strength  must  be  shown  by  the  head 
of  the  house  of  Arillo,  and  each  pious  ejaculation 
of  the  seflora  rang  clear  and  fbm,  encoiu-aging 
and  sustaining  the  others 

The  world  had  done  its  worst.  The  only 
solace  lay  now  in  the  hope  that  a  benign  Prov- 
idence might  forgive  the  earthly  transgressions 
of  the  departed  husbands  and  fathers,  and  that 


i 


42a  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

in  another  life  aU  might  be  reunited.    For  the 
shameful  felon's  death,  naught  on  earth  could 
ever  atone.    The  tarnished  honor,  the  crumbled 
pnde,  the  beggared  homes,  could  know  no  remedy. 
The  hangman's  noose  was  the  final  chapter  in 
their  book  of  horrors.    For  the  aged,  perhaps, 
the  hope  of  another  life  might  beckon,  but  for 
Loreto  AriUo  the  rray  walls  of  the  cloister  already 
loomed  with  alluring  promise  of  peace  after  the 
hurts  of  time.    Again  the  voice  of  Seflora  Arillo 
viorant  with  sublime  faith  and  hope,  inspiring 
devotion,  enunciated:  "Jesus,  Infinite  Goodness." 
Before  the  lips  of  the  kneeling  women  could 
frame  the  response,  "Have  mercy  on  them,"  - 
soft  mascuHne  voice  replied,   "Has  given  you 
back  your  loved  ones." 

In  the  narrow  shaft  of  light  from  the  silently 
opened  door  stood  Don  Jos*  Antonio,  the  dust 
of  the  road  on  his  beard,  his  gcrments  worn  and 
stained,  but  the  Mght  of  love  and  happiness 
and  the  endearing  fatherly  smile  playing  about 
his  lips. 

The  reaction  was  too  great.  Seflora  AriUo, 
whose  strength  had  already  been  taxed  beyond 
endurance,  sank  fainting  to  the  floor,  while  the 
others  rushed  out  to  meet  the  returning  cavalcade, 
which  through  the  open  door  could  be  seen  enter- 
ing the  plaza.  On  the  carreta  meant  to  carry  the 
dishonored  corpses  of  the  Dons  rode  Manuel, 


THB  PASSING  OP  THE  SHADOW    4,3 

i^^^  S^  ^^fr^r* "  ^"^ 

fdatives.  their  faces^^rt^tTC^fn^ 

".e  noticed  the  A.„eri<»„  offi  J^hS^'o,"! 
the  doorway  o£  the  AriMo  home 

Lo^to'Swlr^.*"  J^  r"  »*--'• 

^^..ehatStrji^r^tLr.,^ 

ap="and'^^t^;,t;tj^-'--'" 
garing  at  her  was  T  J^^  Z^^  '^ 
Antonio  stiU  hun^  vZ  Tf'    O*"  D™  Jos« 


424  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

"Loreto!"  CarroU  stepped  forward  with  out- 
stretched hands,  a  glad,  expectant  look  on  his 
face. 

The  girl  raised  her  head  with  a  protid  lift, 
strangely  like  her  father's.  Though  the  dull 
ache  was  again  tugging  at  her  hearUtrings,  her 
jet-black  eyes  as  they  met  his  were  cold  and  hard. 
To  her  rescue  came  the  courtesy  of  hei  race.  The 
man  before  her  was  no  straxiger;  he  had  broken 
breed  with  them;  he  had  once  possessed  her  heart. 
Though  one  of  their  hated  omquerors,  he  was 
yet  beneath  the  roof  of  the  AriUos. 

"Serior,  our  house  is  yours,"  she  said  gravely, 
motioning  him  to  be  seated;  then,  oourtesying, 
she  turned  away.  The  sefiora  too,  recovering 
from  her  swoon,  interpreted  Carroll's  presence 
in  the  same  way,  but  more  diplomatically  wel- 
comed the  enemy  within  her  gates. 

"You  will  leave  him  with  us  to-night,  Sefior 
Lieutenant?"  she  begged. 

But  John  Carroll  did  not  hear  her.  He  on^ 
knew  that  the  woman  whose  entrancing  beauty 
and  once-won  heart  had  been  his  last  thought 
when  he  looked  into  the  leveled  muskets  of 
Ballestos'  men,  the  woman  for  whom  Servolo 
Palera  died  as  a  zealot  dies,  the  woman  for  the 
sake  of  vfbose  ha^.iness  he  himself  had  been 
hunted  like  a  wild  beast  in  the  darkness  of  the 
night,  had  welcomed  him  with  a  cold  civility 


THE  PASSING  OF  THE  SHADOW    4,5 

his  f.c  :«.'rthr:s"'-  ^^^  '«•  '«•• 

But  Don  Jos*  Antonio,  with  that  ouick  1n„<i 
»md  whoh  made  him  the  idol  of  m  Zt,^, 
people,  had  seen  it  all. 

For  once   heedless  of  the  proprieties    in  >,,•• 

them  into  each  other's  arms.  ""^  ^'^' *"^  "^^d 
"Thank  Juan  Carroll  thaf  t  ««,  u       •• . 

am  aiive.—that  your  sorrow  is  turned  to  iov 
house  of  AriUo  wiU  hve  and  ^  Td  h«  o 
th«  such  a  man  as  he  has  enshrined  ^«,eetws 

His  words  seemed  to  cover  aU  details    as  if 

^y  »»«y  and  blotted  out  the  horro^f  Z 
pay-    Explanation  seemed  unnecessary 

As  he  and  SeiSoia  Arillo  passed  oi,f  ti,.  j 
to  ioin  the  ioyfully  tumultu^tCg  L  t^ 
Pla».  John  Carr^U  stood  with  the  wTL"  t^ 
^rr?  but  happy  in  his  enS^  al^' 

Past  the  half-open  casement  where  Jack  C^i 
and  h«  betrothed  stood,  marched  the^ti^' 


436  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

of  Premont.  The  story  of  the  Pathfinder's  gen- 
erosity to  the  Dons  was  known  now  to  all  the 
pueblo.  As  the  men  of  his  command  walked 
their  horses  slowly  through  the  crowded  plaza, 
they  saw  about  them  none  but  smiling  fp'^es,  far 
different  from  the  scowls  and  muttered  curses 
that  had  greeted  Stockton's  saT!ors  only  two  days 
before.  The  excitement  of  ilv.  assembled  crowd 
manifested  itself  in  a  low  joyous  hiun,  growing 
ever  louder  and  louder. 

"Boom." 

As  the  echoes  of  the  mellow,  mournful  peal  from 
the  bell  ♦  -wer  of  the  old  Plaza  Church  died  away, 
ever^*  ualifomian  bowed  his  head,  and  stood 
reveiently  silent. 

"Boom." 

Another  procession  was  slowly  entering  the 
plaza.  Fremont's  men,  at  the  word  of  command, 
reined  their  horses  and  sat  with  heads  uncovered, 
awaiting  its  arrival. 

"Boom." 

The  bells  of  the  church  of  Our  Lady,  Queen  of 
the  Angels  were  tolling — tolling  for  Servolo 
Palera.  Slowly  the  ftmeral  cortege  halted,  and 
lifting  the  litter  on  their  shoulders,  the  mourners 
bore  him  toward  the  open  door  of  the  edifice. 

The  maker  of  sweet  songs  was  dead,  the  dreamer 
of  glorious  dreams  was  no  more.  For  the  last 
time  Servolo  Palera  was  entering  the  sanctuary  of 


THE  PASSING  OF  THE  SHADOW    437 

his  fathers,  to  lie  in  state  in  the  city  he  had  loved 
so  well. 

Sorrowing,  the  companions  of  his  boyhood 
his  comrades  of  the  camp  and  field,  the  people  of 
the  pueblo  who  had  joyed  in  the  music  of  his 
voice,  whose  souls  he  had  stirred  with  his  songs 
and  melodies  till  their  love  unbounded  had  gone 
out  to  the  maker  thereof,  did  silent  homage  to  the 
singer  whose  voice  they  would  hear  no  more 

Gnef-laden,  they  gazed  for  the  last  time  on 
his  peaceful  face  as  they  filed  past  his  bier,  piled 
high  with  flowers.  Strong  men  and  tender- 
hearted  women  sobbed  aloud  at  the  sight  of  the 
thing  of  clay,  once  quickened  by  the  soul  of  the 
soldier,  the  patriot,  and  the  poet. 

And  ever  above,   from  the  old  gray  tower, 
came  the  mournful  booming  .^^dence  of  the  tolling 

Within  the  house  of  Arillo.  Loreto,  her  face 
in  her  hands,  leaned  against  her  lover  and  sobbed 
While  Carroll's  strong  arm  supported  her.  It 
was  her  last,  her  heartfelt  tribute  to  the  memor>' 
of  the  man  in  whose  love  for  her  there  had  been 
no  touch  of  earth,  a  love  less  human  than  divine- 
the  love  of  a  man  complete,  unselfish,  unbounded 
m  its  final  sacrifice. 

At  the  other  end  of  the  room  Jos6  sat  on  the  floor 
at  the  feet  of  Delfina,  his  upturned  eyes  ever  on 
her  darkly  radiant  face. 


4a8  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

'Thou  wilt  have  me  now,  Ddfina,  even 
without  the  shoulder  straps,  now  that  I  have  a 
name?"  he  queried,  halt  mischievously. 

The  girl's  eyes  filled  with  tears,  and  as  she 
brushed  back  the  drooping  lock  of  hair  from  his 
brow  she  said,  "Jos^,  Jos6,  taunt  me  not  with  my 
unkindness.  Thou  fooUsh  lad,  I  loved  thee 
always,  and  never  more  than  when  I  flouted 
thee." 

Suddenly  she  started,  and  sat  erect.  Clasping 
her  hands  before  her,  she  ejaculated,  "Holy 
Mother,  forgive  me!  I  had  forgotten." 

Springing  to  l?er  feet,  she  hurried  away  toward 
the  chapel  of  the  Arillo  home.  Jos6,  amazed, 
stared  after  her  uncomprehendingly. 

John  Carroll,  glancing  at  the  boy,  smiled  at 
his  clouded  countenance,  but  even  as  he  smiled 
his  own  face  filled  with  deep  anxiety. 

Prosaic  but  sufficient  was  the  cause  of  his 
uneasmess.  -  The  Keutenant  was  penniless.  Not 
for  six  months  had  the  men  of  Stockton's  or 
Fremont's  commands  received  a  cent  of  pay.  The 
voyage  of  the  specie-laden  ship  around  Cape 
Horn  had  been,  it  was  believed,  delayed  by 
baffling  winds.  An  embarrassing  predicament 
it  was  at  any  time  for  a  man  as  proud  as  Jolm 
Carroll,  but  doubly  so  now  that  the  house  of 
Arillo  would  soon  be  abustle  with  preparations 
for  the   coming   wedding.    Well  John   Carroll 


THE  PASSING  OP  THE  SHADOW    ,„ 

knew  the  unwritten  law  of  n,-  i    j 
P«>ple,-that   the    h^Z,Z^    ^'^  "^  the 
to  the  bride  a  chest^^T"   *'~'<'  P"'^" 
"^entrich^dXtS:^  ^  overflowing  with 

of  which  would  be^^^*  "T^  ^y  ™8lect 
ness  on  the  Mrt  rfST^  "  '"«*'"8  oareless- 

-^  a  loa^r'artoTiiC'^^rd  ^  "^^t^^ 

at  his  «^oho  on  the  fZSr.'"*  "'  ""  o'^"* 

of  the  missive  a  soldier  of  P~.^.  ?  ™«™<»y 
hf"  as  he  left  the  Su^^T  L' '"''  '^''«' 
of  the  moraine  be^^  ""*  ««"«nent 
Hurriedly  ^,i„^i,^,^'«>  to  open  it. 
"My  dbak  Johk: 

foW  ^  *^*  **^  **»«  *««>°«  them  .,dl  A,3^ 

**I  thought  ye  mought  be  aneedin'  .«-. 
likeweddia3costalot;thCTir^^^°°°^-    Sechthing, 

<rf  th.  de  bull  ™g  Jd^TiTfiLd  iti  ^*^  -?*^  ^ 

n«aet«  and  gold  dust.    'TwuTl^nW  T.?**?*^*'  in  coin  and 
««e  Black  Matador  costoom  "^  *'  *^*  "-^^  «•  ~ 

It  WBi  this  I  wanted  to  teU  ye  lohn     --i.-     , 
^      ^  "^  ye,  jonn.    This  ole  countcy  is 


43©  THE  DONS  OF  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

just  plumb  full  of  tbe  yalla  stuff,  specially  in  the  hills  upaorth. 
Per  God's  sake  don't  tell  any  one  till  the  treaty's  signed.  The 
Lord  bless  ye,  John,  you  will  hear  of  me  agin.  That's  all  this 
time.    The  lancbo  and  the  white  hoss  can  wait  for  awhile. 

"Yours  truly, 

"Jim  Maksball. 
"P.S.   Whose  the  other  fellah  playin' Matador?    'Twarn'tme 
helped  ye  get  away  from  the  pueblo  last  summer." 

"Juan,  what  hast  thou  there?"  queried  the  girl, 
with  all  a  lover's  privilege  now  fully  established. 
"That,"  replied  Carroll,  "is  my  final  passport 
to  Paradise." 

Gold  and  gray,  sunshine  and  shade,  checkered 
the  pueblo.  Dazzling  white,  the  adobe  walls 
threw  back  the  glare  of  afternoon,  in  sharp  contrast 
with  the  dark  roofs  and  the  cool,  inviting  spots 
of  shadow.  The  crowds  had  dispersed ;  the  streets 
were  empty.  Silent  and  peaceful  lay  the  sleepy 
city  as  on  the  day,  years  ago  it  seemed,  that 
John  Carroll  reined  his  horse  by  a  window  and 
looked  for  the  first  time  into  the  eyes  of  the  woman 
who  on  the  morrow  was  to  be  his  bride. 

"Mi  querida,"  he  whispered,  "it  was  all  a 
dream.  Sorrow,  grief,  fear,  danger,  dishonor, — 
all  are  faded  away  like  shadows." 

Tremulously  she  leaned  toward  him,  and  as  their 
eyes  met  her  red  lips  whispered  in  reply:  "Surely 
are  they  gone,  my  Prince.  The  great  shadow  is 
gone, — to  threaten  us  no  more.  Vanished  forever 
is  the  shadow  of  the  sword." 


EPILOGUE 
gold!    gold!    gold! 

TJARDLY  was  the  ink  dry  on  the  treaty  of 
Gtmdaloupe  Hidalgo,  which  gave  California 
for  all  time  to  the  Anglo-Saxon,  than  Jim  Mar- 
shaU  made  good  his  boast  made  to  John  Carroll 
on  the  battlefield  of  the  mesa.  The  news  of  the 
"accidental"  discovery  of  a  gold  nugget  in  a 
mill-race  where  now  stands  the  Uttle  town  of 
Coloma  went,  as  he  had  prophesied,  "ricochet- 
ting"  around  the  world. 

To  the  west  coast  they  came,  across  the  arid, 
Indian-infested  plains,  and  by  the  fever-reeking 
Isthmus  of  Panama,   the  flood  of  forty-niners, 
the  somber-faced  sons  of  New  England  side  by 
side  with  genial  men  of  Cavalier  stock  from 
the  tidelands  of  Virginia,— not  they  alone,  but 
the  bold,  the  -«?piring,  the  venturesome  of  all 
nations,  lured  ca  by  the  magic  shimmer  of  the 
precious  metal.    But  on  Jim  MarshaU  fortune 
ceased  to  smile.    Other  men,  more  selfish  and 
unscrupulous,  wrested  from  him  the  fruits  of  his 
discovery  and  his  hoardings  of  years,  and  though 
a  grateful  state  granted  him  a  pension,  he  died 
alone  and  forgotten  in  his  cabin  at  Coloma,  his 
dream  of  a  "white  hoss"  and  a  rancho  unrealized. 

431 


432  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

For  many  years  Don  Jos6  Antonio  Arillo 
remained  one  of  the  foremost  figures  in  the  life 
of  the  pueblo.  With  honor  and  dignity  he  served 
his  cotmtry  as  mayor,  as  judge,  and  in  the  legisla- 
ture of  his  native  state.  His  unswerving  rectitude, 
kindliness  of  heart,  and  unfailing  courtesy  ever 
held  for  him  the  love  of  his  people,  and  soon  won 
for  him  the  respect  and  confidence  of  the  newly 
arrived  Americans. 

But  ever  dear  to  his.  heart  were  the  ways  of  the 
past.  Men  there  are  yet  living  who  have  seen 
him,  on  many  a  day  in  the  early  seventies,  riding 
his  horse  up  Main  Street,  dad  in  all  the  colorful 
garb  of  the  past, — laced  trousers,  gracefully 
drooping  serape,  broad-brimmed  sombrero  bril- 
liant with  silver, — his  steed  prancing  and  curveting 
proudly  as  if  conscious  of  the  worth  of  the  burden 
it  bore.  Many  a  drowsy  summer  afternoon 
would  he  foregather  in  the  patio  of  the  Pico  Hotel 
— that  had  sprung  up  at  the  comer  of  the  plaza — 
with  his  comrades  of  the  past,  Don  Andreas  Pico, 
Don  Augustin  Alvaro,  Don  Manuel  Garfias,  Don 
Francisco  Cota,  and  many  others.  There,  with 
many  a  laugh  and  sigh,  would  they  fight  over 
again  the  battles  of  the  hopeless  cause. 


The  years  have  passed  in  their  silent,  ceaseless 
march.  A  new  century  with  its  ever-increasing 
marvels  is  upon  us.    Larger,  greater,  and  grander 


EPILOGUE  ,33 

than  its  brave  defenders  ever  dreamed   is  the 
pueblo  of  Our  Lady.  Queen  of  the  Angels. 

But  the  land  about  is  strangely  changed.    No 
longer  are  the  long  brown  swells  and  wide-flune 
mesas  bare  and  treeless,  for  everywhere  the  droop- 
mg  pepper  tree  and  towering  eucalyptus,  im- 
portations  from  Peru  and  Australia,  are  seen  in 
P^ps  on  the  hillsides  and  skirt  the  valleys  with 
green    Vanished  are  the  cattle  and  horses  that  in 
countless  thousands  grazed  on  the  broad  acres  of 
the  big  ranchos-now  the  sites  of  busy  cities  set 
m  far-reaclnng  fields  of  rich  alfalfa,  or  orchards 
where  the  dark  green  orange  trees  or  spreading 
wahiuts  stand  m  serried  rows. 

But  here  and  there,  in  city  and  in  field  alike, 
the  wandenng  tourist  finds  unexpectedly  the 
fast-crmnblmg  ruins  of  an  old  adobe.  Often 
quite  often  he  may  chance  to  hear  from  stately 
men  and  dark-eyed  women  not  the  gutturi 
utterance  of  the  recent  Mexican  imrmgrant  but 
the  musical  and  sonorous  roU  of  the  o.d  CastiUan 
speech. 

Few  indeed  of  the  descendants  of  the  gente  de 
razon  are  left  in  the  land  of  their  fathers.  To 
many,  disaster  came  with  two  dry  winters  of 
62-  63,  years  when  the  cattle  and  sheep  died  by 
thousands,  and  their  owners  sank  from  affluence 
to  poverty  -reverses  which  were  borne  with  the 
subhme  Chnstian  fortitude  and  cahn  resignation 
98 


434  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

of  their  race.  Por  others,  the  proud,  old-fash* oned; 
confiding  honor  of  the  gente  de  razon  -war.  but  a 
poor  protection,  and  from  them  were  stripped, 
by  means  devious  and  dishonorable,  the  lands 
of  their  fathers.  Some  favored  few,  perchance 
by  the  guidance  of  kind  American  friends  who 
knew  the  new  ways  and  the  new  laws,  have  held 
fast  to  their  family  acres.  They  are  to  be  found 
to-day  holding  high  places  in  the  business  world, 
at  the  bar,  and  on  the  bench.  Hardly  may  you 
know  them  from  other  modem  men  of  the  present- 
day  world,  save  for  the  large,  full,  heavy-lidded 
eye  and  the  dignified  but  gracious  courtesy  that 
marks  their  speech  and  manner. 

As  proud  and  glad  are  they  to  call  themselves 
Americans  as  we,  but  first  of  all  are  they 
Califomians — Calif omians  of  the  Calif omians. 
But  to  this  day  their  lips  curve  with  scorn  when 
they  teU  the  tale,  as  their  fathers  told  it  to  them, 
of  the  harshness  and  treachery  of  Captain 
Archibald  Gillie,  and  their  eyes  will  flash  with  a 
pardonable  pride  when  they  speak  of  the  days  of 
the  hopeless  fight  when  lance  met  saber  at  San  Pas- 
cual,  or  the  wild  charges  at  the  Paso  de  Bartolo 
and  the  mesa.  Even  as  the  son  of  our  south- 
land holds  dear  the  memory  of  the  men  who  died 
in  vain  at  Manassas  and  Shiloh,  even  as  the  man 
of  Scottish  blood  clings  to  the  memory  of  "Bonnie 
Prince  Charlie,"  the  last  of  the  royal  Stuart 


EPILOGUE 


435 


line,  so  do  the  Califomians  of  Califomian  blood 
revere  the  memory  of  their  own  lost  cause. 

And  who  shall  say  them  nay? 

Perhaps,  dear  reader,  on  some  winter  day 
when  the  blizzards  are  shrieking  across  the  prairie 
wastes  of  the  Missouri,  and  the  snow  is  swirling 
madly  in  the  streets  of  far-oflf  Chicago,  a  kindly 
fate  may  find  you  in  the  balmy  winter  stmshine 
of  Los  Angeles. 

No  longer  is  it  the  sleepy  pueblo  of  the  past, 
with  bare  and  sandy  streets  bordered  by  adob^ 
with  low  verandas.  Around  you  roars  the  life 
and  tumult  of  a  great  modem  dty.  In  your  ears 
is  the  raucous  cry  of  the  newsboy,  the  honk  of  the 
automobile,  and  the  rattle  of  the  trolley  car. 
Perchance,  as  you  pass  the  north  end  of  the  great 
pillared  Federal  Building,  it  will  be  hard  indeed 
for  you  to  realize  that  you  are  standing  on  the 
very  spot  where  John  Carroll  crossed  swords 
with  Don  Jos6  Antonio,  and  that  over  there 
across  the  street,  a  few  doors  north  of  where 
Commercial  debouches  into  Main,  stood  the 
west  gate  of  the  stockade,  where,  in  the  darkness 
of  the  night,  he  who  was  the  "Black  Matador" 
brought  the  message  of  a  sorrowing  girl  to  the 
man  she  loved — though  his  own  heart  ached 
the  while  for  very  love  of  her. 

There,  too,  stood  Carroll  and  his  men,  as  with 
bated  breath  they  watched  the  wild  race  up  the 


436  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

dope.  As  you  pass  on  toward  the  plaza,  between 
the  lofty  buildings,  you  can  glimpse  the  hill  up 
which  Marshall  and  his  men  dragged  the  gun, 
that  eventful  September  day.  But  of  the  ram- 
parts of  the  old  fort  not  one  trace  remains,  for 
the  hilltop,  now  smooth  and  leveled,  is  cumbered 
with  modem,  tree-embowered  homes.  But  you 
may  stand,  if  you  will,  on  the  very  spot  where 
Gillie  signed  the  shamefully  broken  treaty  with 
Flores,  for  a  flag-pole  marks  the  place.  And  from 
above  the  yawning  tunnel  at  your  feet,  you  may 
look  down  at  the  courthouse  door,  where,  broken 
and  battered,  stand  the  cannons  he  treacherously 
rolled  into  the  water  at  San  Pedro. 

But  if  you  would  peep  into  the  past  as  far  as 
you  may,  go  some  quiet  Sunday  morning  to  the 
ancient  plaza,  where  you  will  hear  the  old  bronze 
bells,  cast  in  far-off  Spain  two  centuries  ago,  pour 
forth  their  mellow  csdl,  as  they  did  that  Sunday 
morning  so  many  years  ago  when  Lieutenant 
John  Carroll  first  looked  into  the  lovely  face  of 
Loreto  Arillo. 

Before  you  lies  the  plaza,  across  whidi  Don  Jos6 
Antonio  Arillo  dragged  his  clanking  chains,  but 
there  is  now  a  fountain  in  the  center,  circled  by 
spreading  palms  and  wax-leaved  magnolias.  In 
vain  will  you  look  foi  the  homes  of  Arillo  and  Don 
Augustin  Alvaro,  but  the  house  of  Dofia  Chonita, 
from  which   Loreto  hurried  the  night   Carroll 


EPILOGUE  ^3y 

stiU  stands  m  tins  year  of  our  Lord,  19,4-a 
patheticajy  lonesome  figure  amidst  the  towering 
blank  waUs  of  the  brick  warehouses  about  it 
And  If,  perchance,  you  cross  the  river,  you  will 

cornfield  that  met  the  gaze  of  Gillie's  beleaguered 
m«i  as  they  looked  down  from  their  hilltop,  but 
instead,  a  vast  tangle  of  raih-oad  yards,  frowning 
factones,  gas  tanks,  and  dingy  warehouses.    But 

Po  o!  ^^^^  t^/  y^"*  ^  "^  to  the  south  the 
Paredon  Bluff  (now  topped  by  the  pointed 
tower^  of  the  CathoUc  Orphanage),  behind  which 

k!;TI  .T'  '^^  ^^  ""^^  ^""y-  still  lifting  its 
bold  head  above  the  now  empty  river  bed.  And 
farther  beyond,  but  hidden  from  your  view,  is  the 
broad  mesa  where  on  that  fateful  afternoon  of 
January  9.  1847.  the  Sons  of  Ancient  Spain  fought 
their  ast  gallant  fight  against  the  aggressive  and 
relentless  Anglo-Saxon. 

Along  the  devious  route,  toward  Pasadena, 
far  beyond  the  city's  bounds,  where  marched  the 
defeated  and  disheartened  Califomians.  now 
gUde  the  noisy  trolley  and  silent  motor  car.  On 
the  very  spot  where  burned  their  last  i>amp  fires, 
hurrying  figures  follow  the  curving  flight  of  the  golf 
baU  across  the  links,  while  from  the  top  of  the  San 
Pasqual  Hill  look  down  the  red-roofed  towers  of 


438  THE  DONS  OP  THE  OLD  PUEBLO 

a  great  tourist  hotel.  And  near  to  the  foot,  half 
hidden  in  the  pepper  trees,  is  the  adobe  where 
the  men  condemned  to  an  ignominious  death  by 
Commodore  Stockton  held  their  last  despairing 
councils,  and  where  Don  Jesus  Pioo  came  in  the 
night  with  his  message  of  mercy. 

Gone  are  the  live  oaks  and  the  open  parks  to 
the  west,  toward  the  arroyo,  save  for  here  and 
there  a  lonely  straggler  left  in  street  or  yard. 
But  on  the  high  arroyo  hill  they  cluster  as  of 
old.  Where  once  the  cattle  strayed  in  fenceless 
freedom,  paved  streets  and  rows  of  brown 
bungalows  now  sweep  arotmd  the  foot  of  the  hill 
toward  the  modem  Pasadena. 

By  the  arroyo's  side  the  giant  oak,  a  mighty 
monarch  of  the  past,  stands  yet  in  its  lordly  mag- 
nificence as  it  stood  that  far-off  night  when  Arillo 
and  Vanuela  fought  in  the  moonlight  beneath  its 
branches  and  the  unhappy  Carroll  clung  breathless 
to  the  limb  above.  Over  the  arroyo  still  hangs 
the  Devil's  Rock,  with  its  yawning  cave,  high 
above  the  sunken  gardens  of  a  kindly  millionaire. 

But  when  fading  day  dyes  the  western  sky  with 
bold  bands  of  orange  and  crimson,  and  the  deep 
rich  indigo  of  the  mountains  softens  and  melts 
into  a  filmy  gray  violet,  the  old  theater  of  love 
and  hate  seems  one  again  with  the  semblance  of 
the  past.  As  the  green  hillsides,  the  dark  forms 
of  the  trees,  and  the  sharp  outlines  of  the  btiildings 


EPILOGUE  ^35 

merge  into  the  deepening  duskiness  of  coming 
night,  over  aU  the  graying  world  there  breathes  a 

a'Z^h  «fT  f*?^'  ^'^^g  the  cheek  with 
a  touch  of  fairy  hghtness,  from  the  distant  gulches 
Of  the  mountams  comes  a  long-drawn  sigh,  as  if 
the  Micient  soul  of  Nature  were  sorrowing  secretly 
for  the  days  that  are  no  more. 


THE  END 


